


Autistic Bucky Barnes - Inktober 2017

by Snowflakesandangels



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Artist Steve Rogers, Asexual Steve Rogers, Autism, Autistic Bucky Barnes, Autistic Burnout, Bucky Barnes-centric, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Is a Good Bro, Communication, Deaf Clint Barton, Demisexual Bucky Barnes, Executive Functioning Issues, Fluff and Angst, Gender Identity, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonverbal Communication, Nonverbal/Semiverbal Character, Photographs, Prosopagnosia, Self-Harm, Social Media, Stimming, nonbinary Natasha Romanov, self-care, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 24,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowflakesandangels/pseuds/Snowflakesandangels
Summary: Bucky loves photography, he loves his boyfriend Steve, he loves autumn, and cats, and physics, and cooking, and... well, you get the picture. One thing Bucky doesn’t love is being autistic; but he doesn’t hate it, either. Some days are just more challenging than others, but there’s plenty of days he wouldn’t trade for anything.





	1. Searching

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the list of the [Inktober 2017 writing prompts](https://boom-its-chris.tumblr.com/post/165751105961/spymastery-as-i-mentioned-doing-just-yesterday) I'm going to fill all of these, and though I'll make every effort to publish on time, some may be a little late. When this happens, I'll double them up in the publishing queue.

They had to be somewhere.

He'd already checked all the kitchen drawers, the freezer, under the mattress; heck, he'd even looked in the washing machine! They, just, weren't, anywhere! Bucky's hands shook harder and faster the longer he searched; if he didn't find them soon-

_**RING!** _

A frustrated little noise escaped Bucky's throat; the last thing he needed was to try to talk on the phone when his mental battery was already so low. At the same time, the longer he didn't answer, the longer he'd have to listen to the ringer, and he knew that would be even worse.

"H'llo?"

"You okay, Buck? You sound tired."

"Lost my dog tags."

"Oh. Hang on." Steve's voice drifted away from the receiver while he shuffled around with something, then he came back. "I thought you might have left them here, but I don't see them. Did you check your backpack?"

"Yeah."

"Jacket? Pockets? Nightstand?"

"YES I DID! I CAN'T FIND THEM!"

Steve stayed quiet long enough for Bucky to catch his breath, but he was already in his shoes and heading out the door. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes, okay? Why don't you grab your ice pack and listen to some music?"

Bucky made a noncommittal grunt and stalked back to the freezer; he knew Steve was only trying to help, God bless him, but he was not in the mood to be treated like he couldn't take care of himself. Grabbing his ice pack, Bucky clamped it tightly to his stomach, and sat down on the hard kitchen floor to wait.

"You good?"

"Mm."

"'Kay. I gotta use two hands to drive, but I'll be there before you can say knife."

"Knife."

Bucky smiled to himself at Steve's soft chuckle, and they ended the call. Steve was a total mother hen, but he always knew what to do when things started going bad. He took every anxious moment, every meltdown in his stride, and helped Bucky to do the same; it wasn't only Steve, though, Bucky did his share of lifting Steve's spirits when his depression got to be too much for him; they were good for each other, and that was no bad thing.

Bucky pulled himself out of his thoughts when he heard Steve's boots stop outside of his apartment; and when he let him in, Steve didn't even mind that his hug was cold and wet from Bucky's ice pack melting through his shirt.

"Mind if I take a look?"

Bucky was too low on words to make a full sentence, so he shook his head and clamped his ice pack back to his stomach. The cold was keeping him from panicking, but it was Steve's gentle humming while he drifted from room to room that helped Bucky calm down the most. Eventually Steve gave a triumphant "Aha!" from the living room, holding Bucky's dog tags aloft like a victory flag.

"No wonder you couldn't find 'em, they fell down the couch cushions."

Bucky was close to crying rivers of relieved tears, but he held off long enough for Steve to wash his tags and slip them back over his head. He was still out of words, but he knew a hug and a kiss were just as good, if not better, than a verbal thank you; he made sure Steve got plenty of both.

A little later, after a few more thank you hugs and kisses, Bucky was snuggled up in front of a movie with his head on Steve's chest, listening to his breathing, and one of his dog tags popped in his mouth, star side down, right where it belonged.

Yep, he thought to himself, life was pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's Bucky's chewy-stim dog tags! ](http://www.chewbeads.com/Juniorbeads-Dog-Tags-for-Kids-p/juniordogtag.htm) (They come in blue, too so you can make a Stucky set!)
> 
>  


	2. Barefoot

It wasn't the easiest thing in the world, being constantly aware of every cell in your body at the same time, especially when those cells weren't on friendly terms with your nerve endings. Bucky tried in vain to flex his toes inside of his boots; not only were his feet hot and cramped, one sock was crooked.

Oh boy was it crooked! It didn't even matter that he had his socks on inside-out, the seam was still cramming itself under his toenail. He could swear it was at least an inch thick and made of rocks. Bucky squirmed miserably and tried his best to ignore his foot before the other sock bunched up in sympathy.

The awful part; okay, another awful part; was that he wasn't somewhere he could take off his shoes. If he was outside, or at home, or at Steve's, he wouldn't even be wearing shoes, but they were kind of required for going to the grocery store. Why didn't he go barefoot in his boots this morning? Oh, right, the insole texture was bothering him. Great.

The store wasn't even all that busy, (compared to weekends), but being around even a few people when his nerves were frayed was too much. He wasn't even having all that bad of a day before he'd put his socks on; he'd remembered to take a shower, he hadn't burned his toast, his mp3 player was fully charged, he had his dog tags, and he'd woken up to a text from Steve. It was a good morning all around; then he put his foot in his shoe, and the whole thing went wrong.

Bucky gritted his teeth, answered the cashier's rehearsed small-talk, packed his bags in the wrong order, fumbled out the right amount of money for his food, grabbed his stuff, and made himself walk normally to the exit. Once he was outside, he headed straight for the nearest flat, dry, out-of-the-way surface to get his boots off.

A full body sigh left Bucky's mouth with a gust of stress tanged air as soon as his bare feet touched the cool pavement, and he pressed his feet as flat as they could go; he really wished he could press his whole body into the pavement, but he knew that would draw the wrong attention. Leaving his feet firmly planted for a few more minutes, Bucky carefully rearranged his groceries so they'd be more comfortable to carry, and balled up his socks in the bottom of his backpack where they wouldn't cause any more problems.

One or two people were giving him funny looks, so Bucky quickly put his boots back on, (thankfully his feet were cold enough he couldn't feel the texture), picked up his stuff, and headed for home. By the time Bucky's front door clicked shut behind him, his pinky toes were a little raw from rubbing on stiff leather, but he'd avoided a meltdown, and taken care of himself, and he was darn proud of that.

Bucky stretched up onto the balls of his toes while he put away his food and washed his hands. He thought about what he wanted to eat, he thought about cats, he thought about sunlight and leaves, he thought about quantum physics, he thought about Steve, and he let himself, just for a little while, think about nothing but how good it felt to be barefoot.

Cool linoleum was a beautiful thing.


	3. Warmth

Bucky knew his alarm was going off soon, but he really couldn't bring himself to care; his bed was too soft and warm to do anything but snuggle down and sleep some more.

Bucky loved warmth, but only in the winter. Summer wasn't warm, it was hot, itchy, and sticky; winter was warm socks, warm blankets, warm cocoa, warm sweaters, warm hugs... winter was definitely nice.

Fall wasn't bad either; the crispy, crunchy, crackly, red-yellow-brown leaves all over the sidewalk kind of smelled warm in their own way, too. The sunshine on cool, clear, blue sky days was warm, making the grass just the right for running his fingers and toes through.

Tea was warm in two ways; spicy cinnamon, and temperature; so were apple pie, pumpkin bread, and gingersnaps. Bucky liked gingerbread, too, but that was better at Christmas.

Come to think of it, fall warmth may even be nicer than winter warmth; fall was easier to stay comfortable without overheating. Then again, fall didn't have as many days cold enough to stay inside and hibernate under a pile of blankets. Fall, winter, winter, fall. Decisions, decisions, decisions...

Bucky's phone alarm lit up with some annoyingly cheerful music that he'd thought, (for whatever reason), would get him out of bed in the mornings. Groaning, he snaked an arm out, shut the noise off mid-song, and pulled the blankets back over his head. If it wasn't so comfy under there, he'd probably be getting up anyway.

Actually, he really did need to get up; warm bed or no warm bed, he had things to do. He needed to take a shower, make and eat breakfast, run three errands, and have dinner with Steve. The longer Bucky thought about all the things he had to get done, the more he wanted to stay in bed; if he was this exhausted just by thinking...

What was he supposed to be doing, again?

Bucky blinked up at the ceiling, wiggled his toes, tapped his fingers, looked over at his phone, but he couldn't quite make his brain connect again. Something to do with getting up. He kind of needed to use the bathroom, maybe that was it.

Oh well. He guessed he'd figure it out as he went along.

Gosh, his blankets were warm.

...

What a day.

Not a bad one, though; just busy. Bucky's brain had been a little too fuzzy to get a shower, but he'd still managed to wash his face and comb his hair, which was good. He wouldn't have taken so long running errands if the sun hadn't been so distracting (inviting), and kept getting him lost in letting it soak through his face and hands.

Now he was back home, and Steve was there, too; sometimes he'd go to Steve's place, but Bucky was much happier when Steve came over to be with him. Tonight, Steve had his drawing pencils all over the kitchen table, working on some art commission or other, while Bucky took dominion over the counters. He was making soup and bread from scratch; well, the bread was from a mix, but he was still baking it, and Steve was in charge of giving his opinion on the results. (He already knew it would be good, Bucky was a great cook.)

"What do you think about minestrone?" Bucky's voice drifted out from the refrigerator where he emerged a second later with two large handfuls of fresh vegetables before nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Sounds good to me. Don't be so stingy with the spinach this time, though, I think I got one leaf in the last batch."

Bucky knows Steve is joking; he's gotten pretty good at reading him, and he's glad. He flicks a piece of celery at Steve's head just to mess with him.

"That's only 'cause you ate it so fast, you didn't stop to look."

"Wouldn't eat it so fast if it wasn't so good."

It's a compliment. Bucky feels his cheeks get warm; he's not sure how to respond so he waves at Steve to get back to his own work and let him get on with his. He knows his cooking is good; he practices all the time, he's careful to follow directions, and he also has a keen instinct for what will taste good and what won't.

Social skills? Not so much. Sure, he knows the basics; please, thank you, bless you, and you're welcome; but they don't come all that naturally to him. He laughs at the wrong things, too, but that's a whole different ball game.

Suddenly, Bucky's not feeling as warm or focused as he had been; thinking too much saps his energy like nothing else. He needs a hug. Thankfully, Steve is a great hugger.

Bucky wraps himself around Steve's shoulders from behind, and Steve sets down his pencil to rub Bucky's arms; it's comfortable, and Bucky can feel his battery filling back up enough to finish cooking.

"Thanks."

"No problem, pal." Steve pats his arm and grins. "I hope that bread's gonna be done soon; sitting here having to smell it sure is making me hungry."

Bucky agrees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my notes are going wonky on here, but I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I love warm fall and winter things. ❤♡❤


	4. Compliment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet one this time. <3

Steve's cooking comment from the night before was still rattling around in Bucky's brain the next morning as he got himself ready for his day; it hadn't just been a comment, though; it had been a compliment.

Bucky hated compliments. Scratch that, he hated the way they made him feel; awkward, and exposed, and not knowing what to say or do. He understood what they were for, he wasn't too bad at giving compliments himself, he just... he didn't like getting them.

It always felt like there was an invisible contract with social stuff; not just a script with predetermined lines, but serious obligations to be perfect, or else. Of course the logical side of Bucky's brain knew there wasn't anything of the sort, but sometimes, it sure felt like it.

Steve wasn't like that, though; Steve would say he was simply stating a fact.

Bucky's cooking was good; fact.

Bucky was smart; fact.

Bucky had a great sense of humor; he made Steve laugh, so that must be a fact, too.

Steve wasn't one of the most tactful guys himself, so Bucky didn't feel too worried about him getting offended by a few, or lots, of slip ups.

Bucky tapped his fingers on the table and stared into his cereal like it held the answers to the universe; he really loved Steve, and he wanted to do something special to tell him how much he appreciated him.

He wanted to give Steve a compliment.

...

When Steve got home that night, all he wanted was a hot meal, (microwaved burritos since he was too tired to cook), and an early night falling asleep on the couch with a TV show. His commission had been approved, but the customer had wanted him to draft out ten more designs by noon tomorrow. Instead of dragging his work home, Steve had stayed at the studio and sketched until the set was complete, leaving him less to do the next day, and his night free to get some rest. 

While his burrito slowly rotated in the microwave's humming glow, Steve decided to check his email. He hadn't heard from Bucky all day; he figured he might have been busy, or not up to talking, or...

Steve smiled a little, then a little more; Bucky had definitely sent him something...

"You remind me of the sky on the sunniest fall day."

It was a compliment. It made Steve feel warm all over. He loved it.

Under the words was a picture of the sky, deep blue and clear, with a few golden leaves framing one side. Steve tried to imagine what Bucky had been feeling when he'd taken the picture; the sun on his face, a cool breeze in his hair, colors and smells and sounds filling his senses with good things that didn't hurt.

Being compared to something like that wasn't just a compliment; it was a gift.

Steve's microwave let out a long beep, but he ignored it for a little while longer; right there, right then, he didn't need anything other than exactly what he had.

A wonderful gift named Bucky.


	5. Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of blood, minor injuries, and mild language.**

Hypermobility really, really sucked sometimes.

Bucky winced as Steve pressed another wet cloth to his chin; it hurt like hell, but he was almost too mad to care. He'd managed to catch most of his weight on his right side, but hadn't quite gotten away unscathed. He'd probably get a nice scar out of the whole mess. 

Steve wasn't in the best mental place either; he could push himself to his limit all day, past it when he had to, and not bat an eyelash. Bucky though? Bucky getting hurt scared him; made him feel vulnerable whenever he wasn't there to help. He knew Bucky was tough as nails, don't get him wrong, but there were still so many things that could, and did, happen to him on a daily basis. Bucky had only fallen this time, but what about next time? Or the time after that? 

"What happened?" 

"I fell." 

"I know that, Pal; I meant, what made you fall?" 

Bucky didn't meet Steve's eyes, he wasn't up to it; he looked at the ivory bathroom tiles over Steve's right shoulder instead. "Tripped on my feet. Really, 'm okay."

That's all it was; no raised cracks, no tree roots, no wet patches, no slick leaves; nothing but his feet going the wrong way at the wrong time. He'd fallen so fast he hadn't even had time to process his face hitting the sidewalk before somebody had been helping him up and wanting him to answer a bunch of questions about emergency contacts, ambulances, and concussions. All he'd been able to do was ask for help walking the extra block to Steve's art studio and try not to bleed everywhere. Steve had not looked well when he'd seen him.

Steve tried to keep his face neutral when he pulled the cloth off Bucky's chin to check his bleeding; it wasn't that bad, but Bucky had definitely ripped off some skin. "Anything else hurt?" 

"Head. Shoulder. Jaw. Teeth won't line up." Bucky listed everything in a flat monotone so he wouldn't start crying; that would just be adding insult to injury. (Not to mention salt to his injury. Ha ha.) Bucky noticed he was starting to shake a little.    

"Okay." Steve dabbed Bucky's other minor scratches with the cloth, then gently blew on his skin to dry it enough to stick on antibacterial salve and a bandage. "Let's get you home and lying down. Don't give me that look; come on." 

Bucky did give him that look, but he let Steve help him anyway; he was really glad he didn't have far to walk. 

...

How he'd made it up a flight of stairs with his legs shaking like he'd run a mile, he'd never know, but as soon as Bucky reached his own kitchen, he sat right down and cried. Frustration could only last so long before fatigue took over and left him wanting nothing but to cry and sleep. The pain from his fall was finally catching up in a big way; Bucky hadn't realized just how many places he'd hit until he couldn't move his right arm to get his bloodstained clothes off, (thank God he'd been wearing black), and had to let Steve help him into clean pajamas.        

It was actually really nice to have Steve taking care him; it was something Bucky didn't allow often, holding on to what little independence he had with a death-grip. Sometimes though, when life got to be too much, he really wanted it.   

Bucky was way too miserable to lay anywhere but on the floor, (after Steve put down the couch cushions); having one whole side of his upper body out of order meant he had to lay on his back, but then he couldn't watch TV, but he also couldn't go to sleep until Steve was sure he hadn't hit his head too hard. His jaw hurt too much to eat, but he needed something so his body would stop shaking, but he felt like throwing up, and he didn't even want water. Bucky let a few more tears out just for good measure.

"Hey." Steve settled next to Bucky with a small cup of juice, and a heating pad for his shoulder; Steve's eyes looked different, not as tight and worried, but a little sadder. "You're gonna be okay, Buck."

"I know." Bucky sat up enough to take a few sips of juice, and he realized he hadn't lost any words with everything he'd been through; if anything, his brain felt clearer than it had in a long time. Pain was funny. "Gonna have a pretty great Indiana Jones scar, too." 

That got Steve to laugh. Steve laughed, and Bucky felt a little better; he knew he'd heal up in time, and until then he had Steve, and enough movies to keep him occupied. He was okay. 

Hypermobility still sucked, though.  


	6. Water

The only thing Bucky could think of when he woke up was letting out a long, drawn out moan. Opening his eyes to curtain-muted daylight didn't make his body hurt any less, but at least it didn't make it any worse, either. It was taking him a few seconds to remember why he was sleeping on his living room floor instead of in bed, when Steve surprised him by tiptoeing in with a glass of water.

"Hey, you're awake. How do you feel this morning?"

Bucky wasn't sure what he looked like, but it must have been pretty bad if Steve's tense shoulders were any indication. Bucky tried to swallow, but his tongue felt like a piece of outdoor carpet. "I dunno. Kinda hurt all over. You okay?"

Steve didn't really look upset, but his voice had a little shake in it. "Yeah, Bucky, of course I'm okay. Think you can sit up and drink some water?"

Being able to ignore pain was a skill Bucky had found useful many times over the years; he didn't think of it as lying, exactly, just not making an emotional situation worse than it had to be. Bracing himself on his left arm, he sat up and drank as much water as he could without gagging, then gave Steve a crooked little smile. "Mornin'."

Steve couldn't help smiling a little right back, but it faded all to soon. "Morning to you, too. I hate to leave you alone, but I've got to go work on my commission. The guy keeps requesting all these different things, but he's willing to pay a lot for the end result. Will you be okay for a couple hours?"

"I'm just gonna sleep and watch TV." Bucky tried not to lisp, but his tongue had only gone from dry carpet to a damp sponge. "I'll be fine, Steve. Go make pictures and money and stuff."

"Okay, Jerk." Steve gently kissed Bucky's forehead and stood to go, but not before reminding him to text if he needed anything, eat so he could take his meds, and drink lots of water. Bucky waved his boyfriend out the door before he fussed himself into a hole and decided not to go at all.

...

Bucky could swear water had a personal vendetta against him that day.

A hot shower would really help to loosen his shoulder, but he couldn't get water anywhere near his face. His hair was getting greasy, but his neck hurt too much to wash it over the sink. Whenever he turned on the faucet, or flushed the toilet, the noise made his head hurt. And every time he had to wash his hands, he'd get stinging soap in scratches he hadn't noticed the day before.

Did he mention drinking any water? No? Well, he couldn't. No matter how many cups, straws, or bottles he had in the cupboard, the mere thought of even a drop of water on his tongue had Bucky's throat closing up. It wasn't that he wasn't thirsty; not that he'd realize if he was anyway, but that he just couldn't drink that day. It happened sometimes, and there wasn't much he could do about it.

Worse than that, though; he couldn't suck on his dog tags. The built up energy from not being able to stim the way he wanted only added to Bucky's misery; he was tired, his routine was a mess, and he wanted Steve.

After an unknown amount of time spent moping in silence, Bucky dragged himself to the bathroom to change his bandage when he realized he'd have to look in the mirror to do it; so far he'd managed to avoid his reflection by keeping his eyes on the water swirling down the sink, but now he wouldn't have that as an option.

Bucky sucked in a shaky breath, pulled an uncomfortable grimace, squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't cry, shook his left hand as hard as he could, but only felt himself growing more and more panicky. It wasn't like he couldn't change a bandage; he'd done plenty, his own as well as Steve's, he just- he couldn't- not on his face!

Running out of the bathroom before he really started to panic, Bucky grabbed his ice pack and quickly lay back down on his cushions. He had a hard enough time looking at his face on a good day, there was no way he could deal with a cut where it didn't belong on a day when he was so out of sorts. Bucky hugged his ice pack until his stomach stopped hurting, then he put it away; Steve would be checking in on him soon, anyhow; all he had to do was lay there and wait.

...

When Steve came back at lunch time to check on him, he found Bucky in the same place as when he'd left; huddled under a pile of blankets, TV turned off, and his full water glass still on the table. Bucky sat up when he heard Steve come in and sit beside him, but he didn't look at his eyes.

"How's your commission?"

"It's getting there. How've you been?"

Bucky shrugged his left shoulder half heartedly. "Didn't eat. Didn't drink. Freaked out and didn't change my bandage. Pretty normal day."

"Hey." Steve put his hand out, palm upward so Bucky could stim on his fingers. "It's okay to have a bad day. Sometimes things happen that throw you off, but there's nothing we can't deal with together."

Bucky tapped Steve's fingertips and practiced some deep breathing for a few minutes to center himself. He knew Steve needed to get back to work, but Bucky needed one more thing. "Could you help me with my bandage before you go?"

"Sure thing, pal."

...

After Steve had cleaned his chin, (pulling tape off of stubble was not fun), Bucky had felt well enough to drink some water, eat a little, and take his pills; he even remembered to wrap his shoulder in a heating pad and take another nap.

By the time Steve came back that evening with a change of clothes and his toothbrush, a whole bag of Bucky's favorite soups and fruit sauces, and a fresh stack of DVDs from the library, Bucky was ready to cuddle for the rest of the night.

Steve was all for it.


	7. Confusion

There were a lot of things Bucky was confused about; his gender was sometimes one of them. Not his orientation; that was all Steve. Steve-romantic, Steve-sexual, Steve-attracted in every way. Gender was a little tougher to figure out; maybe it was his natural lack of social awareness, or his sensory issues.

Maybe it was just because he couldn't recognize his own face in the mirror. 

Bucky stepped closer to his reflection hoping it would make more sense if he stared at it harder; it didn't, so he stepped back to get a different view. He felt like a guy, kind of; not quite a man, (men had jobs, men could take care of their responsibilities by themselves, men were automatically given respect), but not the incompetent child some people treated him as, either. Bucky wondered if he had any say in how others interacted with him, but he doubted it.

Back to gender, though; Bucky liked his hair longer and tied up in a bun, he liked how dresses looked even if they were sensory hell, he liked nail polish, he liked kittens and rainbows and songs about love. He also liked heavy boots, manly sweaters, a nice pair of dark-wash jeans, and free-running in the park. He liked salad, sushi, chips, frozen pizza, and miniature vegan cupcakes. (Why some folks thought food had to be divided by gender, he'd never know.) 

Bucky had read that some people were Autigender; they felt their gender, or lack of gender, was a part of their identity as an autistic person; and while he'd given the idea some thought, he hadn't felt it was right for him. Bucky was... he was comfortable being male, comfortable with his body, comfortable with his pronouns, comfortable with the things he liked and the clothes he wore; he just wasn't comfortable with expressing himself freely in public. It wasn't so much a case of 'what if', as 'when' he'd have to deal with negative reactions from complete strangers who only wanted a fight. There was only so many ways one person could be different on a given day, and since his disability wasn't going anywhere... 

Giving himself one last blank look in the mirror, Bucky shrugged and left the bathroom; Steve had stayed over again the night before, and Bucky would much rather spend time with him than do anything else. The cushions were back up on the couch were they belonged, Steve was stretched out with his back against one armrest and his big 18 x 24 sketchpad on his knees, and Bucky's mouth felt well enough to suck on his dog tags while he worked on his latest knitting project. Steve glanced up and smiled when Bucky snuggled into the opposite end of the couch and buried his toes under Steve's feet.

"Wha'cha working on?"

Bucky grinned around his dog tag and held up an almost-finished, pink-orange-yellow-purple, flame-striped sock.

"Wow. That's really bright." Steve pretended to shade his eyes from the sun. "I like the colors; they remind me of a sunset."

Bucky was glad Steve like them, they'd probably end up being his anyway. Bucky settled into the quiet swish-clack-swish-clack of his needles, and the scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch of Steve's pencil for the next hour; there was nowhere either of them needed to be, nothing else that needed to be done, no one to interrupt their calm space. After a while, Steve stopped to stretch his hand, and turned his paper for Bucky to see what he'd been working on. 

"What d'ya think?"

Since he was so relaxed, it didn't take much effort for Bucky to switch focus away from his own project to Steve's; he was glad, too; the drawing was really nice. "Beautiful. Who is she?"

"The guy I'm making the commission for; his wife. He wants to give her a pastel portrait for her birthday. I figured I'd try some practice sketches first."

"I'm sure they'll love it, your pastels are beautiful."

"Thanks. Mind if I draw you for a while? I want to work on something different."

Bucky shook his head and went back to his knitting. Steve liked drawing him for practice, and Bucky liked seeing all the ways Steve saw him; he still had a hard time recognizing his own face, but it didn't matter, he'd rather memorize Steve's anyway.  

By the time Bucky was slipping the last stitch off his needle, Steve nudged his toe to let him know he was finished drawing. Bucky tied a quick knot to keep his sock from unraveling, then scooted around so he was spooned into Steve's chest; this was something he wanted to give his full attention to.

Steve had drawn him exactly as he was; messy bun, chew-stim half out of his mouth, and so absorbed in his knitting the whole world could have blown up and he would have missed it. What Steve had written underneath, perfectly described everything that he was in one simple word:

Bucky


	8. Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes: This chapter contains mild language.**

Damn government paperwork.

There was never any mail on Sundays, but Bucky still had mail from Saturday that Steve had brought in before he'd left that morning to go home. As soon as he'd seen the stack of official looking envelopes on his table, Bucky wanted to call him back and forget the rest of the world even existed. Despite being in varying degrees of pain for three days, Bucky'd had the nicest weekend with Steve he could remember in a while; far too often they were kept busy by tasks and obligations, Steve's with work, and Bucky's with trying to survive. Now the week was starting again, and all the stress that came with it was getting a running start. 

Bucky sighed and started sorting through his envelopes; food assistance renewal, housing voucher renewal, low-income health insurance renewal... why did everything have to come in at the same time? Housing wanted to know where he was getting money to pay his portion of rent if he wasn't working, the other two wanted a doctor's note stating that he couldn't work, but to do that he'd have to make an appointment, but to get there he'd have to have a good enough day to take the bus, but a bad enough one so his doctor didn't think he was well enough to work, which he wouldn't mind doing if he could find a job that didn't give him a nervous breakdown! He couldn't get disability benefits because he was too "high functioning", but he was too "low functioning" to have a normal existence.    

Who did he piss off in a past life to deserve all this?

Bucky had dreams; big dreams and big ideas to make a difference in his little corner of the world; but he also wanted a quiet life where he could just cook and putz around the house and watch Steve draw. Life- scratch that, agencies and programs- wouldn't allow him to have either one; colleges weren't equipped to deal with his disability, but without a college degree he could only get jobs he was equally unequipped for. Not to mention every time he'd start a new job, his benefits would go down, then he'd be out of food by the time he was fired a few weeks later.

The combination of disability and poverty was the perfect definition an impasse if ever there was one.

So, how did he pay for rent and daily necessities without a job? Short answer, he didn't. Steve helped out when he had the money, and Bucky's sister did the rest. Rebecca had always been protective of her little brother even if she didn't understand him; and while Bucky's official diagnoses after a miserable attempt at attending college hadn't made life any easier, it had at least given them all some idea of what he had to work with. 

It wasn't an ideal situation by any stretch of the imagination, but so far it had worked.

Deciding to ignore his life until Monday, Bucky shoved his mail to the end of the table and took out his phone. Becca had given it to him when he'd gone to college five years ago, and since then he'd never failed to call her once a week to check in. 

"Hey, Becca. How've you been?"

"Hi, Bucky! Oh, gosh, tired. The kids have had the flu this week, and we had to take the cat to the vet. How 'bout you."

Bucky decided his sister probably didn't need to hear that he'd crashed his face into the sidewalk, so he picked something else to talk about. "I made bread, worked on my socks, and was out taking pictures at the park."

"Ohh, send them to me! Your pictures are always so good. How's Steve? Did you guys do anything special this week?"

Hearing "pictures" and "Steve" in the same sentence reminded Bucky that he'd wanted to tell his sister about Steve's latest art commission. "Steve's gonna do a set of paintings for Tony Stark! And he's making a pastel portrait of Pepper Potts for her birthday! The sketch was so good, you should've seen it!"

"Wow." Becca sounded impressed, even through the phone. "That's great, Bucky. Tell Steve I'm really happy for him. Having a commission from Stark is pretty much the best publicity anyone can get. Your man's moving up in the world."

"Yeah." Suddenly, Bucky didn't feel like talking anymore. "Um... I gotta go, but tell the kids I hope they feel better soon, okay?"

"Okay. I love you, Bucky."

"Love you."

Bucky watched the time counter on his phone blink until it went out, then stared some more; Steve was moving up, getting a shot at a better life, and while Bucky felt so proud he could bust, he also felt keenly aware of just how little he had to offer.

Remembering his sister wanted pictures, Bucky spent a quiet hour choosing the best ones and adding funny captions he knew she'd like.

It wasn't much, but it was something he was good at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The challenges Bucky faces in this chapter are very real experiences for people on the autism spectrum. While statistics vary, the average unemployment rate among autistic adults is about 70%-80%. Homelessness is also a problem, as well as lack of medical care and food assistance, sufficient education/job supports and accommodations, and workplace discrimination and bullying.
> 
> I can only write from my own experience, but I hope by doing so I can help bring awareness to these issues, and offer a hug of solidarity to anyone going through a rough patch in their lives. 
> 
> You are not alone.


	9. Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE: This chapter contains mild language.**

One perk of having a disability, was getting to ride half-fare on the bus. Not a huge perk, but... 

Bucky took a breath, not too deep, and watched the building lined streets pass one by one. He was lucky there'd been a last minute cancellation at his doctor's that morning; now he'd be able to get his paperwork out of the way sooner than he'd expected, which meant more time to do the things he wanted to do. (Like spending time with Steve, and knitting.) Speaking of knitting... he needed to remember to start his next sock when he got home.

The thought was just one stop in a long string of thoughts about... well, string, funnily enough; pulling one's strings, stringing one along, having strings attached. Bucky was even listening to some strings; 2CELLOS, to be exact. Very relaxing... 

Strings, strings, strings. Bucky had a lot of experience with strings; the metaphorical kind, anyway. Like being strung along; if someone lied to him, told him something that wasn't true, he'd never know; no matter how many times they did it. It wasn't that he was stupid, or too trusting; far from it; just that he couldn't tell. 

Being given assistance with strings attached was a problem, too; especially in situations where he was perceived as neurotypical. There were different kinds of expectations that came with that so called privilege; expectations to return favors without being told, expectations to understand inside jokes and jargon, expectations to join group activities regardless of being tired. It was exhausting, and, to be perfectly honest, not very respectful. 

Having his strings pulled, though; that was a bad one. There had been too many times in the past, (some, unfortunately, in the not so distant past), that Bucky had found himself being manipulated with absolutely no way of getting free. It was like his brain shut off all sense of will or self-preservation; he couldn't act for himself, no matter how dangerous or harmful the situation, no matter how much his head was screaming, no matter how badly he wanted to stop, all he could do was comply, comply, comply. It was scary; it was frustrating, and humiliating, and so  _God damn wrong_.   

Bucky shuddered a little and decided to point his thoughts about string in another direction. String Theory. That was good. While he didn't understand everything about physics, Bucky had always found a special kind of calm in letting his mind explore the possibilities of the universe after a rough day. 

String beans were good, too; french-cut with slivered almonds and Celtic salt, raw in salads, steamed, roasted, piled up next to a nest of spaghetti. Yum...

String lights; those were nice. They were Bucky's favorite visual stim; white lights, blue lights, twinkly lights, icicle lights, lights on houses, lights in store windows, lights on trees... if you let him, he'd probably lay under the Christmas tree and stare up through the branches all night. Sometimes Steve would lay down with him... hold his hand... gently tap the branches to make the lights dance... 

Heartstrings... 

Medieval doctors believed the heart was held in place by strings, poets claimed they could be played, storytellers endeavored to tug at them with their own strings of words.  Maybe the heart did have strings... maybe it didn't. All Bucky knew, was how his heart felt about Steve; like a string stretched between them, keeping him from getting lost, leading him home no matter how far away life took him. He guessed there just hadn't been invented a better word than love.    

Seeing that he'd reached his stop, Bucky turned off his music, and stepped out into a rainy autumn tableau of gray and yellowy-brown. Now he had a new string to think about; heartstrings, love, and everything that went with them.  


He'd be sure to text Steve all about it when he got home... right after he started that next sock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus quote for Strings: The idea for the heart string connecting Bucky to Steve was inspired by this passage in Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte:
> 
> "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you — especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly."


	10. Honor

As if he'd needed a reminder of just how much Steve was moving on with his life, Bucky's attention was jarred back to the fact when they'd been texting the night before. They should have stuck to texting, honestly, but Steve had wanted to hear Bucky's voice while he talked about his day, and Bucky had wanted to recite a book passage that he felt summed up at least a fraction of what he felt for Steve, but then the conversation had turned to art, and Steve had chimed in that he'd had a working lunch with Tony Stark to go over yet more ideas for artwork, and Stark, the genius, had decided to offer Steve a regular job in his company instead of having to pester him at the studio every other day. 

To say Steve was excited would have been a serious understatement; and to say that Bucky wasn't happy for him would have been an equally serious discredit.

Bucky was over the moon, he just... had things on his mind. Invasive, obsessive, irrational thoughts that he had nothing of to offer Steve as a partner. He had just enough intelligence, just enough social ability, just enough control over his life to make it through, but not enough to feel like a fully functioning adult. Honor; that was the word; respect for both himself and Steve; a sense of having faced a challenge, having met a high standard, a feeling of fulfillment at the end of the day. Society had a narrow view on what constituted human worth; hard work, money, and prestige. How was a person who was either invisible, or looked down on, supposed to achieve that goal? Why was honor reserved only for those who didn't make mistakes? Wasn't being imperfect part of being human?

"Bucky?" 

"Hm. Sorry. What?"

"I just asked if you were okay. You seem kind of quiet."

"Oh." Bucky tried to push his thoughts away, (because darn it, this was Steve's big chance!), but they wouldn't budge. "Full brain. What are you gonna be doing, again?"

"Poster art and making pieces for charity auctions throughout the year." Steve still sounded excited; Bucky was glad he hadn't ruined his good mood for him. "It's actually the first regular paycheck I've had since college, so I'm looking forward to eating more than box mac and cheese."

Bucky laughed a little with Steve, then asked if they could end the call; which Steve did after promising to see Bucky later that week, as soon as he got settled into his new job. Bucky was happy for him, and so proud; he just wished he could feel the same way about himself.

...

Why did thoughts have to keep you up all night?

...

Morning. Great.

Bucky sighed tiredly as he sat facing a bowl of oatmeal and another day of mind-numbing boredom while he waited for life to give him a break. Okay, so his life wasn't horrible; he had a roof over his head, and food in his stomach; he knew he was lucky he had that much... he just... what he  _wanted_ , was a chance to prove to himself that he had value; that he could reach for his dreams and actually make them happen. He wanted to make a difference for himself and others like him whose value was held out of their reach. He wanted to be seen, heard, and respected as a human being. 

Quickly swallowing down the last of his cold, lumpy breakfast, Bucky rinsed his dish in the sink and grabbed his jacket and phone. If he was going to do this... whatever it was, right, he needed a plan.

And lucky for him, he knew just where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little cliffhanger there! We're going to be seeing more of an actual plot from here on out, so get ready for some surprises. :)
> 
> I also noticed some of you wonderful readers mention you want to know more about Bucky and his life; if you have any specific questions, please feel free to drop them in the comment box, and I'll answer as best I can.


	11. Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTES:** This chapter is for SAL: who wanted to know why Bucky and Steve aren't living together, and how they first met; and for Lena: who wanted to know about Bucky's childhood and life.

Whenever he needed a change of scenery to think, Bucky liked to spend an hour or two at the library halfway between his apartment and Steve's. On days it rained, like this one, he knew he could always find a quiet corner in the computer lab to check things out online about his special interests, or daily living ideas for his disability; (thank God for Tumblr). For the past two days, though, Bucky had been working on a special project; a call to arms, of sorts; one that now sat waiting for him to stop staring reflectively at the rain streaking down the window across from his chair…

Life, it was said, had seasons just like the year; the springtime of childhood, the summer of youth, the autumn of adulthood, and the winter of old age.

Bucky wasn't quite sure where his own life was at the moment, caught in a limbo between summer and fall, but he knew which seasons he'd already passed, and which ones he was working towards. His springtime hadn't been all that bad; growing up with loving parents and an older sister who did her best to look out for him had helped to balance the hell of navigating public school with a disability. None of them knew Bucky was autistic at the time; the label of autism wouldn't even have been used for someone as verbal as he was, anyway; to his family, Bucky was just sensitive, shy, gentle, stubborn, smart, and too naive for his own good.

Then summer had come along, and with it certain interests that weren't as well received as comic books and superheros; Bucky's attraction to boys combined with a lack of social skills had met with more than one incident of misunderstandings and bullying. Then Steve had shown up. Steve, who was ninety-eight pounds of righteous fury wrapped up in a layer of sass, had come to Bucky's aid one afternoon, and hadn't left since.

It wasn't love at first sight; it was love built on the deepest friendship that either of them had ever known, growing as they did through life's bumps and bruises and sunshine days. When Steve's mother died their last year of high school, Bucky's family took him in, gave him a family, and a place to call home. When Bucky's parents died a few years later, Steve had offered to do the same, but Bucky had wanted to stay with his sister while she finished college, and Steve had respected his choice. Bucky had also wanted to attend college, but without any understanding of his limitations, he hadn't lasted more than a week. It turned out good in the end, though, as fate would have it; his first reading assignment was a book on a man with Asperger's, and the rest, as they say, was history.

When Becca married her accounting major sweetheart in the summer between her junior and senior years, Steve helped Bucky find his own place to live, and moved closer to him so they could see each other more often, which led to their friendship deepening into something neither of them had any interest in letting go. Sometimes, (often), Steve wished that Bucky would move in with him so he could support him better, but at the same time he understood how important it was for Bucky to have some independence in his life. Having lived with his family for the first twenty-five years of his life had given Bucky a great deal of stability, but it had also put a dent in his self-confidence. Bucky's life wasn't easy, but he was living it with autonomy, and that was something Steve would defend to his last breath.

Now it was autumn, both literally and figuratively, and Bucky was ready to move into the next season. Autumn was a time for hard work, for harvesting the previous seasons' lessons and turning them into something solid and satisfying. It was a time for gathering things that were comforting and warm, and for letting go of past hurts like leaves in the wind. It was a time to face the future and say "I'm ready."

Giving one last spell-check to the draft in his Tumblr account, Bucky took a deep breath and clicked post; it was out of his hands what came of it now, but he could sleep soundly knowing that he'd done something to turn his life in the right direction.

Who knew what the future would bring...


	12. Instrument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** In case anyone is wondering, Bucky's tumblr page is a private space for him to keep a collection of his favorite photographs, mood boards, aesthetics, cats, cooking, and encouragements for off days.

Bucky hadn't expected to hear from Steve until at least the end of the week, so he was pleasantly surprised when he caught sight of him at the library checkout across from the computer lab. Steve saw Bucky, too; lighting up and waving, then weaving his way through the stacks to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey. Sorry I didn't call last night, I was at the tower until past two getting set up. Wha'cha workin' on?"

Bucky tilted his computer screen so Steve could see his project. Steve looked impressed and proud all at the same time. "Wow, that's really great, Buck. I love your graphic art."

Bucky rolled his eyes and clicked open another tab with a blank page for typing.  _"It's only a collage of my pictures, Steve, not the Mona Lisa."_

"Jerk." Steve nudged his boyfriend's arm playfully. "I'd pay for your work over da Vinci's any day. I've gotta get going, but can I text you later?"

_"I'll be waiting."_

Steve's smile went all soft and squishy, and he typed a quick  _"I love you"_  before disappearing back into the depths of the library. Bucky felt warmer now than he had all day, (not surprising since they'd had a frost warning overnight), and a little better all around about his project; so far, his well thought out post had yielded exactly two notes, both likes, and no further attempts at conversation. It wasn't as if he'd been expecting a million notes and a full ask box, he'd just... Never mind. The post would still be there tomorrow; right now, he needed to rest a bit.

He'd had a long morning; grocery shopping, (again? Didn't he just do that?), had taken its usual toll on his word supply and stimming demand. The store had been crowded more than usual, and loud; Bucky hadn't even made it home before he was walking on his toes and shaking the energy out of his free hand. Lunch had been a quick meal of chips and salsa since he didn't have to cook them and the crunching helped to calm his nerves; after he ate, Bucky had decided to spend another few hours at the library to work on a completely open ended project just for himself. Lucky for him he had many kinds of stims, some of which were not only stealthy, but actually pretty cool. One of Bucky's favorite stims was organizing his photographs into collages while he listened to music; it made him feel like a composer, or a real artist like Steve; using the pictures he'd taken to express whatever he felt that day through whatever song he had filling his ears.

The computer was his instrument; his tool, his medium for expression. Steve used pencils, charcoal, pastels, paints, and inks to express his beautiful innermost thoughts, while Bucky used a camera and a photo editing program for his. They both used visuals to convey what they didn't have words for; it was a pretty nice way to communicate, if Bucky thought so himself.   

This time, Bucky uploaded all of the photos he'd been taking on his walks since fall had really begun to set in; leaves, trees, leafless trees, the sky, birds, squirrels, flowers, pockets of sunshine and shade. He had a predominace of yellow, blue, and brown, so... maybe a rusty pumpkin color for the background? Yeah, that worked. Next came arranging, and rearranging; that always took a while; then any recoloring, bokeh, filters, textures, or light flares he wanted before adding captions, or quotes from his favorite songs and poems. The entire process took time, but Bucky knew it was good to ground himself, especially with so many things pulling for his attention all the time. Speaking of...

Saving a copy of his partially finished collage to his phone, Bucky deleted his browser history and got ready to leave; he still had a few chores to get done at home, and dinner to make. After that, he was all Steve's for the rest of the evening. Which was all he really wanted to be.


	13. Foolish

Why had he done it?

Was he really that desperate to connect to people? To be heard by... who, exactly? The impersonal void of the Internet? How many failed attempts at reaching out would it take until he learned his lesson; no one cared if he lived or died besides Becca and Steve.

Bucky scowled darkly inside of his thoughts; the post he'd put out two days ago had not only been his first, but also an attempt to integrate into a group; all he'd done was to ask for anyone who was interested in making a collaborative photography project on the positive and negative aspects of living with a disability to drop a note in his ask box.

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time... 

Now he just felt foolish for even trying.

A knock on his door jarred Bucky out of his thoughts enough to remember he was going to be spending time with Steve for the first time since last Sunday. Yeah, that was a way better thing to think about. Bucky opened the door to the sight of Steve waiting for him with a big bag of food, and an even bigger grin.

"Hey, beautiful. I brought your favorite vegan takeout. Mind if I come in?"

Bucky did not mind in the slightest. He did however make sure that as soon as Steve's arms were empty, he filled them right back up again with himself, wrapping his own arms around Steve and giving him a kiss he wouldn't forget anytime soon. "I missed you so much this week."

"Hmm, I missed you, too. I want to hear all about your week, tell me anything you want."

Well, that cozy little bubble didn't last long. Bucky let Steve go so he could unpack the clear boxes of ready-made food on Bucky's table, and grab two sets of flatware (you couldn't really call plastic forks, silverware) and napkins. Just the sight of his dyspraxia-proof dishes made Bucky's stomach drop even more.

"Uhm... I was working on a new project. Or at least I started one. "

Steve nodded and tried to talk around a mouthful of veggies. "Cool. Was it the one you showed me, or a different one?"

"Different." Bucky twirled his cold noodles around his fork, not really in the mood to eat anything. "I sent out this post about wanting to start an art collaboration, but nobody's answered it."

"Oh." Steve looked at Bucky for a moment, then asked, "Is it something I could help with?"

Bucky shook his head. "I wanted to make a collage about living with a disability, so I asked disabled people to reply to the post. I really thought it would get some feedback, but... it just hasn't. I feel stupid for posting it now."

"You're not stupid, Bucky..." Steve's voice was as soft as the fingers he wrapped around Bucky's with a gentle little squeeze. "I'm sure you'll get some replies over the weekend when more people get a chance to see it."

Bucky turned his hand so his fingers lined up with Steve's; just like the two halves of a zipper, they always fit together perfectly. "Thanks, Stevie. Tell me about your new studio?"

"I will if you eat something; those noodles aren't gonna do you much good sitting there on your fork."

"Punk."

Bucky laughed a little, then started eating his food; he realized he was kind of hungry now that his brain wasn't quite so full. Steve told him all about his new office/studio, the amazing variety of art supplies now at his fingertips, and a little about his boss, Tony Stark, and how he wasn't as arrogant as he seemed in interviews; he was actually a genuinely kind person with really high energy, and an insane amount of money that he'd look for any excuse to give away.

As Steve talked, he watched Bucky unfold and relax from his day's stress, and he remembered something one of his coworkers had mentioned during their lunch break; he'd have to check the source, but if everything was alright, he had an idea that Bucky would be in for a real treat.

Steve wanted to take his best guy on a date as special as he was; he just had to think of how to give him enough information to feel prepared without giving away the surprise...


	14. Haunted

When Steve had suggested they go on a date, Bucky was happier than a cat in the sunshine; the more he thought about having to interact with people, though, the more he wished they were just staying in watching movies. But Steve, the sweetheart, was so excited, and Bucky hadn't seen his eyes shine like that in so long, he decided to step outside of his comfort zone and give whatever Steve had planned a try.

In the end, he was pretty glad he did...

On the bus ride to wherever they were going, Steve made sure Bucky was as comfortable as possible, (got your earbuds, Buck?); he also kept his hand tucked under Bucky's thigh so he could feel grounded without feeling self conscious about stimming in public. (Steve was the best.)

_Now, where were they going... hmm..._

When Steve had texted him the information the night before, he'd given Bucky a list of clues to ease his anxiety and make the whole experience more fun.

_1\. It's a 20 minute bus ride away._

_2\. It's Halloween themed._

_3\. It's supposed to be a calm event, but we can leave anytime if you get overwhelmed or don't like it._

Bucky couldn't imagine what combined all three of those things, but knowing that Steve had taken the time to plan everything out beforehand made Bucky's nerves feel a little better.

Eventually the bus stopped and Steve wiggled his fingers under Bucky's leg to get his attention. "We're here."

"A movie theater?"

"Yep. They're having a low volume showing of The House on Haunted Hill. I thought you might enjoy that."

Bucky thought Steve's smile was a little shy, but there wasn't any need for him to be; Bucky loved the idea, and he gave Steve a big hug to make sure he knew just how much.

The inside of the theater was full, but knowing that he wouldn't have to cover his ears through the entire film made Bucky feel a lot less anxious; then Steve found two seats near the very back row near the door, and that helped, too. When Steve put his hand on the armrest, Bucky didn't even hesitate to tap his fingers while they watched the movie.

He'd said it before, and he'd say it again as many times as he wanted; Steve was the best.

...

The sun was starting to set when Bucky stood waiting for the bus with his arm looped through Steve's. The movie had been great, the volume had been perfect, and Bucky was feeling calmer than he had all week; stretching his trust muscles to let Steve surprise him had been a challenge, but it was the kind of challenge that made him feel really good when he overcame it. In fact, he wanted to keep going while he still could... 

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"Nope. Why, did you have something in mind?"  

"I want to cuddle you aggressively."

Bucky couldn't help but grin into Steve's arm when Steve threw his head back with one of his deep rumbling laughs; it was just so good to feel the vibrations of something so pure as another person's laughter. "I'd like to cuddle you aggressively, too. Do you want to go back to your place or mine?"

"Yours."

Steve chuckled a few more times as he checked the destination signs on the incoming buses for the one that would take them to his apartment; if Bucky was offering cuddling of any kind, he wasn't about to say no.   

The ride back to Steve's apartment was filled with anticipatory squirming for Bucky, but mental supply checking for Steve, who wanted Bucky to be as comfortable as possible whenever he stayed overnight. Did Bucky have a spare toothbrush? Pajamas? His favorite foods? Oh, God, what about his dog tags?!

"Do we need to stop at your place for anything on the way?"

Bucky shook his head, determined to push his good limits as far as he could without actually going too far. "I'm good." Then as a remembered afterthought, "Thanks, Steve. Don't know if I said that yet."

"No problem, pal. I'm glad you enjoyed it." Steve squeezed Bucky's kneecap, then went back to counting how many street signs there were until he could get Bucky home and settled. He knew Bucky could take care of himself, knew that he knew his own limits and what he needed, but Steve was allowed to fuss over him sometimes, too.

Bucky nudged Steve's arm to get him to look over, then hooked a thumb into the collar of his shirt, showing him he was wearing his dog tags. His easy smile said 'I'm okay, but thanks for worrying about me'. Steve smiled back, rested his head against the seat, and closed his eyes. 

Everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is low on socializing energy right now, so I'm taking a break from answering comments, but I want you to know that I read and appreciate every one of them. <3


	15. Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter briefly discusses sexual themes centered around demisexuality and asexuality.   
> This chapter contains sensuality and non-sexual intimacy.

There was nothing in the world as grounding and fulfilling to Bucky as being intimate with Steve. Steve was so gentle and so beautiful and so good, he just... couldn't describe how much he loved him with words sometimes. 

Intimacy meant many things; familiarity, close friendship, nice conversations, deep knowledge, a cozy atmosphere, physical closeness. Bucky had all of those things with Steve, each one as equally important as the others, and, in his mind, all belonged together. How people had sex without friendship, or even love, made absolutely no sense; those were the only things that made Bucky even interested in sex in the first place, let alone relationships in general. 

Bucky was very happy being demisexual, (thank you very much), and loved the idea of sex even if he couldn't stand some of the sensory issues that went with it. Steve on the other hand was asexual; he didn't have any sexual feelings toward anyone, (not even you, Buck; sorry), and wasn't interested in trying it, either. How did they make intimacy work with so many challenges? 

Cuddling; and lots of it.

Steve had laughed himself into a gasping fit the first time he heard Bucky say 'aggressive cuddling', and it had stuck; Bucky knew most people used the the phrase to refer to sex, but to him it was just being intimate with Steve however they wanted to. 

Steve loved light kisses all over his chest and arms. 

Bucky loved deep muscle back rubs. 

Steve loved drawing pictures on Bucky's back while they talked.

Bucky loved playing footsies under the table at breakfast.

Steve loved letting Bucky massage the cramp out of his drawing hand.

Bucky loved letting Steve wash his hair.

Steve loved tracing the edges of Bucky's face with his fingertips. 

Bucky loved looking at Steve's face even though he couldn't memorize it.

Steve loved that Bucky felt comfortable enough to be naked around him.

Bucky loved that Steve felt comfortable enough to borrow his clothes.

Steve loved that Bucky let him take part in his stims.

Bucky loved that Steve wanted to draw him.

Steve loved hearing Bucky's vocal sounds when he was happy.

Bucky loved falling asleep to Steve's steady breathing at night.

Steve loved.

Bucky loved.

That was how they made it work.

-

Steve's first instinct when he walked through his front door was to head to the kitchen for something to eat; he knew Bucky needed to let out some energy, but it would be more fun for both of them if his stomach wasn't growling the whole time. 

"You hungry?"

Bucky kicked off his shoes and socks, then wrapped himself around Steve's back. "No. Maybe. Kinda. Do you have any chips?"

"I'm not kissing a salty, dried out pair of lips. How about some apple slices?"

"Fine." Bucky used his best put-upon groan and huffed a warm spot into the back of Steve's neck. To his surprise, Steve honest to goodness shivered. Bucky did it again, and Steve rolled his shoulder blades with a quiet sound somewhere deep in his chest. "Hm. Hold that thought, okay? Just let me grab us a snack, then we can go sit down."

Bucky felt a little like he'd just had a new stim taken away, but he respected Steve's boundaries of 'no' and 'wait'. It wasn't specifically easy, but it wasn't hard either; Steve was more important to Bucky than his nerve system. Simple as that. He did hope Steve didn't make him wait too long, though; holding back stims was not exactly comfortable. Steve carried a bowl of apple slices out to the living room, popping two in his mouth before setting them on the coffee table and pulling Bucky into his arms. 

"Now, where were we?"

Bucky leaned deep into Steve's left shoulder, planting his lips into the little dip just under the collar bone, and blew out a long, steady breath of warm air that had Steve melting into the couch. Not letting him go completely, Bucky nudged Steve to sit with his back against the armrest, then snuggled into him like a baby koala. "You're comfy."

"Well, I've been called a lot of things in my time..." Steve felt Bucky snicker into his chest and he kissed his hair. "I thought you wanted to cuddle me aggressively. What happened to that?"

"Still there." Bucky propped his chin on Steve's chest, letting his eyes go unfocused so Steve could look at them if he wanted. "Just thinking about how much I love you, I guess. Don't really have the words for it."

Steve tightened his grip on Bucky and leaned down to meet his lips; he understood exactly how Bucky felt; there wasn't enough words in any language that could even come close to expressing how much he loved him. There were some things that could only be understood without words; kisses, laced fingers, a breath, a heartbeat, laughter, tears, a sigh.

Steve loved every one of Bucky's silent communications, and he wouldn't change them for the world.

Bucky shifted his body so he could start pressing soft kisses down Steve's neck; he was just about to start on his chest when Steve's stomach growled and made them both dissolve into a fit of laughter.

Giving him one more kiss on the lips, Bucky grabbed a handful of apple slices from the bowl and stuck one in Steve's still open mouth. "Tell your stomach to quit interrupting my aggressive cuddling, will ya."


	16. Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains language.

Monday again.

Bucky gave his phone the stink-eye from where he sat across the room; he was back in his own apartment after a very nice cuddling session with his boyfriend all Saturday night and Sunday, and he hadn't even touched his phone since Saturday morning, let alone bothered to check his tumblr account for messages. Not like he expected anything to be there anyway...

Oh well, might as well get it over with... what in the particular heck?

Bucky blinked hard and rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining the little (2) bubble hovering over his Ask notification tab. 

Had someone actually replied?

_"Hey, red-star-bucky! Saw your post and thought I'd drop you an ask to say HELL YEAH I want in! Shoot me a PM so we can get this project off the ground! - purplearrowguy"_

Bucky was almost too excited to read his second message, (his brain was already halfway through replying to the first), but he made himself calm down and concentrate.

_"Hey. I guess you've already gotten a message from purplearrowguy (my best friend Clint), but I'm sending my own ask to get in on this art thing of yours. It sounds like you already have an idea where you want this to go, so let us know what you want to do. - Nat (green-eyed-with-enby)"_

Wow.

Two responses!

Bouncing his toes rapidly against the floor, Bucky tapped on purplearrowguy's profile to check his blog out. He knew better than to trust random messages without at least checking if there was really a person behind them first, but purplearrowguy turned out to be a really fun guy named Clint, with purple hearing aids and a one-eyed yellow Labrador named Lucky.

Clint was Hard of Hearing, and equally fluent in both English and ASL, though he preferred ASL. Most of Clint's posts were Deaf culture jokes, food (pizza), pictures of his dog (eating pizza), and his friend Nat's Cripple Punk rants about disability rights. His hobbies included archery, paintball, and playing the drums with his brother's garage band.

Bucky tapped on one of green-eyed-with-enby's posts to check out their page next.

Nat - Enby/Non-binary - they/them pronouns  ** _ONLY  _**(you have been warned) - disabled with a dash of deadly

Just looking at a few of Nat's pictures, Bucky could well believe they could take care of themself. Along with piercing green eyes, they had the fiercest asymmetrical undercut in a deep flaming auburn, and dressed exclusively in tight black clothes of varying styles, always with two trademark electric blue bracelets and a red belt buckle.

Nat's hobby was protesting; everything from animal testing, to climate change, to civil rights, to capitalism. In a word; defiance. If the whole world was burning down around them, Nat would be leading a protest with their middle fingers in the air. It was no surprise that Nat was so active in the Cripple Punk community; they had a way with words that caused a deep surge of pride in anyone who read their posts.

Even though Nat's disabilities were numerous and painful, they still managed to work as a freelance writer of a (what else) disability rights blog. When they were in a softer mood, though, Nat read Russian poetry, drank obscene amounts of tea, tried to keep their cat Liho from terrorizing Lucky, and wrote songs with Clint's band.

Tapping back over to his messaging tab, Bucky thought about how he wanted to answer his notes. Clint and Nat seemed like really interesting people, and he really wanted to work with them, but to do that, he'd have to communicate as clearly as he could, but at the same time he knew how crummy he was with words sometimes.

Oh well, if he did make some mistakes, maybe they'd understand, anyway.

_"Dear Nat, thank you for replying to my post. I've looked at your blog, and would very much like to work with you on this project. I did have an idea of how I'd like to make it, but I'm open to making changes to accommodate different types of art since I don't know what either you or Clint would like to make._

_I guess I should tell you a little about myself since I don't have much on my blog. My name is Bucky, I'm autistic, and I love photography and making collages from my pictures, (I can send/post one if you'd like to see). I'm new to the Cripple Punk movement, but I've found it very helpful for learning not to apologize for being different; your posts are some of the best I've read, and I think you are doing a great job. (P.s. I love the pictures of your cat.) I am sending a message to Clint now._

_Thanks - Bucky"_

Bucky reread his message a few times, mentally kicked himself for sounding like an awkward robot, then got to work sending a similar one to Clint. By the time he'd finished that one, he had an unread message from Nat.

_"It's good to hear that something I wrote in a shitload of pain actually helped to relieve someone else's, so thanks for that. :) Clint just sent me a happy-dance gif, so I'm guessing he got your message._

_I would love to see one of your collages! :D What theme did you have in mind for the project? I can definitely make something that can be used in a collage format if that was your original plan. (You don't need to change anything for anyone, even on the small stuff. Remember, you're too awesome for that.)"_

Clint's tab popped up with a gif of a dog eating a slice of pizza, which made Bucky laugh and send him one of a hamster eating a carrot. He had a feeling Clint was going to be fun to talk to.

The more he chatted with Clint and Nat, the easier it became for Bucky to type his thoughts clearly, and the more he felt a tiny sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd made some new friends.


	17. Jubilant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains mild language.

_Happy sounds. Happy Sounds. HAPPY SOUNDS!_

Bucky couldn't keep it in anymore; he was just. so. happy! Nat and Clint actually wanted to make an art project with him! Even after they'd all chatted for several hours, even after he'd made some serious conversational mistakes, even after he'd gone and info-dumped about his photography for ten minutes solid.  

He should probably calm down before he passed out. 

Bucky sucked in a deep breath of air and held it while he bounced up and down on his toes.  _Calmdowncalmdowncalmdowncalmdown. I'm calm, I'm calm, I'm calm, I'm just excited._

"HAAAAA!"

If there'd been anyone around to hear him, Bucky might not have let himself be loud, but once in a while, the noise just had to come out.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

How long had he been wound up for? Oh, about... twenty hours, give or take. No wonder he couldn't get to sleep last night...

"HAAAAAAAAPPYYYYY BIRTHDAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!"

Steve. Should he call Steve? Yeah? No. No, he was working. In fact, he should be working on his own project. YES! He had his own project! Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes.... Okay, okay, time to chill.

Bucky shook his head a little to clear the stars out of his vision; he really did need to get his breathing under control at the very least, not to mention he should eat, try to get some sleep, drink water, work on his project... what was his project, again? Disability collage! Right, that was it.

"Ah, crap. Can't calm down." Yeah, calm down during happiness induced overstimulation? Good luck with that. "Shoot. Hmmm hmm hmmm." 

It took a few more minutes of staring at the ceiling and shaking his hands loose for Bucky to collect his thoughts enough to move on to what he knew he needed to do.  

Dog tags; dog tags first. Ice pack. Grab an ice pack, grab a blanket, shut the curtains, put on a movie, lay down on the floor. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out...    

...

Great, now he was exhausted.

...

_Can I call Steve, yet?_

_No._

_Oh fine._

...

_Steve. Steve. Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve..._

...

Bucky's head was aching by the time he finally woke up from what he suspected to be a ten minute nap, and drug himself to the kitchen to see about getting himself something to eat. He wasn't hungry, not really, but he knew his body needed food to function. Speaking of function; he hadn't done too bad taking care of himself earlier. Actually, he'd done everything perfect, right down to remembering to close the curtains to keep out the extra light.

_Now you can call Steve; you've got something really good to tell him._

_How about I send a text instead; no need to get wound up again..._

...

Steve quickly wiped a smear of pastel down the leg of his jeans so he could check his phone. If Bucky needed something, he could probably come in early tomorrow... 

The worry lines between Steve's brows softened the longer he read the string of texts popping up on his screen every few seconds; if he wasn't on such a tight schedule to get this project done, he'd be giving his best guy the biggest hug and kiss in the world. Well, what was he waiting for? Shored up by a fresh wave of determination, Steve set his phone on the table to stay clean, and got back to work; he knew exactly how long it would take him to finish, and when he did, Bucky was going to get so spoiled, he wouldn't last 'til morning. Steve didn't even need to see the screen to remember Bucky's wonderful texts; he was sure they were already being stored away in his memories. 

_"Hey, Stevie. I think you'll be real proud of me when you hear what I've been up to the last two days..."_


	18. Waiting

It was always a good idea to find something to do while you were waiting, especially if you weren't all that good at it. Not that Bucky wasn't patient, it was just that waiting made him fidgety.

Oh well, he needed to get working on his part of the project anyway. 

Getting comfy on the couch with a notebook and his phone, Bucky started going through all of the pictures he’d taken over the last few months to see if any caught his eye. He wanted to somehow show a few of ways that autism affected his life, both the positives and the negatives, as well as the way he saw things, his personal viewpoint, as it were. 

Wow, out of three hundred photos, most of them of either nature or Steve (no kidding), almost none of them were of Bucky himself; in the age of the selfie, he was invisible. Steve’s drawings captured more than a photo could, anyway; Steve saw Bucky as he was inside, a beautiful, strange, wonderful person with his own likes and dislikes and thoughts. Now, how to translate all of those things through a camera…

Keeping his phone propped up on one knee, Bucky started sketching out a basic collage outline, making sure to leave plenty of space for Clint and Nat’s artwork when he got it; Bucky’s squares were in the bottom left of the panel, snug in the corner then spreading out like the rays of a sunrise. He liked that idea, being warm like the sun; it was a nice change from how most people saw him as cold and unfeeling. He wasn’t cold at all, but the only ones who bothered to look past the surface, to really get to know him, were few and far between. It kind of sucked, actually; loving so much you felt like combusting, and having no one to give it to because they only saw an awkward nobody to shun and laugh at. Becca said it was other people’s loss if they didn’t like him, but it still hurt.

But... Steve loved him, Becca loved him, Nat and Clint seemed to at least like him enough to hang out online, so… yeah, he was good. 

Bucky still wasn’t sure what pictures he wanted to use, but he had a few ideas for the topics he wanted to get across.

  1. He wanted a picture showing awkwardness; the way he was seen by others as something either too flawed or too profitable to be human; like a robot that was tossed aside as soon as it needed maintenance.  


  1. He wanted a picture showing beauty and peace; like the sun on his face, or when he was stimming, or one of the few times his brain actually gave him a break.


  1. He wanted a picture showing something the way he saw things; a close up shot of a leaf or  a flower; a feeling of just how amazing life really was when you slowed down enough to look at it.



Maybe Steve could help him out with the second one; he’d said he was finishing up his pastel so they could take one or two days off before he started in on the new poster ideas for his boss. Steve said Stark had given him pretty flexible working hours; even for an artist Steve seemed to keep odd hours, though Bucky suspected his needing help at odd hours may have had something to do with that…  

Either way, tomorrow they were going to spend the whole day outside before the weather got too cold. Giving his paper one last once-over, Bucky closed his photo album and got ready to go to the grocery store; if he was spending all day in the great outdoors, he wasn’t going without a picnic. 


	19. Nature

The weather was so perfect; the breeze was cool, the sun was warm, the sky was blue without so much as a cloud, and Bucky knew, he just knew it was going to be a beautiful day.

Getting ready had been good, too; he'd made sure his favorite clothes were clean, had a hot shower, and a good breakfast. Of course packing a picnic had been a walk in the park (ha ha!), especially since he'd done most of it the night before, (except the sandwiches, no one likes soggy sandwiches), but the cookies and milk and fruit and veggies and chips (yes, chips) were ready and waiting by the time Steve pulled up in his ma's old station wagon to hit the road.

Bucky had always loved going for drives; whether it was Steve's ma taking them to ball games and movies in the park, or Bucky's dad taking everyone for ice cream in the next county, or Steve just getting away from the city with his best friend for a while. He just loved drives...

"The whole world's at your feet, Buck; where do you want to go?" Steve sat idling at the end of Bucky's street with his hazards on, waiting for the order to turn left or right. Bucky reached over and flicked the blinker to go straight through the intersection. "Full steam ahead, it is. How're you doing this morning?"

Bucky grinned and gave Steve a two-thumbs-up.

"Glad to hear it. Let me know when to turn, okay?" Bucky gave another thumbs-up and Steve settled in to the drive; he had a pretty good idea of where Bucky wanted to go anyway. "So, I got that pastel finished last night. Tony was over the moon about it; thought the poor guy was gonna start flying around the room or something."

Steve heard Bucky snort from the passenger seat, and grinned himself. "I did! Honest to goodness, Buck, I think he builds jet-packs into his shoes just to scare the daylights out of his interns, and skip the line for coffee in the morning."

Bucky was shaking with laughter by the time Steve turned off the car at the trail head of his favorite park, and Steve wasn't in much better shape, himself. "Oh, God, I'm- I'm sorry, Bucky, I couldn't h-help it. I love watching you laugh."

"Mm, s'okay. I liked the story." Bucky managed a straight face for about two seconds before cracking up again. "Y-ya gotta stop looking at me or I won't stop. Please, Steve, I can't- I can't breathe."

Trying his best to be helpful, Steve rummaged around in his messenger bag until he came back up with a shiny silver camera. "Got something for ya. I borrowed this from the supply cupboard at work so you could take more pictures today; I hope it's a good one."

All humor instantly forgotten, Bucky could barely believe his eyes, let alone his hands when Steve dropped the camera into them. "Are you kidding?! This is one of the best digital cameras on the market right now! I really get to use it?!"

"Yeah, Buck, that's what I brought it for." Steve's easy laughter gave Bucky butterflies on top of butterflies; God, he loved Steve. Apparently, Steve loved him, too. "Go knock yourself out. I'm just gonna work on some practice sketches until we get hungry."

Steve barked out a last muffled laugh as his boyfriend gave him a tackling kiss before bolting off to find the nearest thing that caught his eye and begged to have its picture taken. Bucky sometimes described himself as a force of nature, and at times like this, Steve had to agree with him; his energy was so pure, so boundless, his body just couldn't contain all of it.

Watching Bucky gave Steve an idea, and he drew a quick sketch before putting his books away and getting out to stretch his legs; knowing Bucky's attention span, he'd have plenty of time to work on his sketches before they stopped for lunch.

...

If Bucky were as high as a cloud, he'd be a noctilucent. 

Steve's camera worked like a dream; crisp, focused, amazing zoom lens, automatic lighting adjustment, accurate color. There was no shortage of subjects around the park, either; trees, grass, bugs, birds, flowers, the sky, the skyline, the treeline. Everything and anything Bucky saw that he wanted a picture of, he got one. He'd have to get a few pictures of Steve while he was at it, too...

Feeling himself getting a little too excited, Bucky took a minute to sit in the grass with his shoes off and look over the pictures he'd taken that morning. Jeez, he took a lot of grass close-ups. The trees weren't too bad, or the bugs; of course the leaves were the best, so there was that. Bucky was so engrossed in his photos he didn't notice Steve walking up to him until something cold-warm-scratchy-soft was being gently placed on his head. 

"There." Steve's smile was soft around his eyes as he moved to sit by Bucky's side. "Now you're my force of nature."

Bucky carefully reached up to the leaf crown on his head and touched it with his fingertips; it must have taken Steve at least an hour to make, longer to find the perfect leaves... and wouldn't you know he'd lose his words right then... figures.

"D'ya like it?" 

_I love it._

Bucky hoped his face was showing something more than the fact he had the sun is his eyes, but he figured a really gentle kiss would get the point across, too. Bucky closed his eyes as he cupped Steve's cheeks with his hands; his face was so warm and soft, with strong lines and soft edges, crinkly laugh lines by his eyes, and worry lines between then, soft lips and a firm jaw. Steve's hands moved up Bucky's arms until they were covering his hands like warm mittens. 

"Can I take your picture?" 

Bucky was too serene to care what anybody did with anything, so he just nodded his head and waited for Steve to take his picture; to Bucky's bemusement, Steve asked him to lay down, do whatever was most comfortable with his arms, and just let the sun work it's magic. Bucky was beginning to think the sun was a little bit magic; it'd have to be to get his brain to turn from chaos to infinite warmth and light. He lay there for a long time, or maybe not, or maybe no time at all; he twirled his fingers lazily through the grass, curled and flexed his toes in the sun, felt a light breeze ruffling through his hair. 

There wasn't a word for it, just a feeling that was. 

"Thank you." Steve's soft, strong hand cradled Bucky's face this time, stroking his big thumb over Bucky's cheek until he blinked and squinted up at him, smiling blissfully despite still having the sun in his eyes.  

He was right, it had turned out to be a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is my favorite chapter so far; so many precious things came together to make this little snapshot what it is, and I hope you all loved reading it as much as I loved writing it.
> 
> Extra: Here is [a very special song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoL7uO55-g8) to give you some extra feels for this chapter about Steve and his beautiful force of nature Bucky. <3


	20. Sheltered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter deals with an intense sensory/burnout experience. I'm not sure how to explain it better than Bucky has an extremely bad day locked inside of a malfunctioning body and brain.
> 
>  **Trigger Warning:** Self-harm. Gory self-harm ideation. Blood. Language.

 

Sometimes shit happened and there was nothing you could do about it.

When he'd gone to bed the night before, Bucky had been tired out but so, so, so relaxed; it wasn't often he had a whole day outside without social interaction, or without Steve worrying about something or other. Why couldn't every day be like that? Why did the good days have to be so few and far between? Why were the really good days always followed by disaster?

Even before Bucky opened his eyes that morning he could feel it coming on like a sudden storm that he was powerless to resist; he had a headache, his body felt wrong, he couldn't focus, the room was too loud, he needed to scream, his voice was gone, his skin hurt, his eyes hurt, his head hurt, his head hurt, his head hurt!

Head head head head head head gotta get up can't head hurts head hurts head hurts head hurts.

It wasn't just a physical pain; this was radio static and nails on the black board and needing to pull your hair out to make it stop. This was a tidal wave of crashing and banging that no one else could hear so you banged your head louder to drown it out. This was a slithering whisper that got into your brain and under your skin and made you claw yourself bloody and scream.

Breathing too hard and too fast, Bucky squeezed his tearing eyes shut and shook his arms until the joints cracked; he paced the length of his bedroom on his toes, whimpering silently from his whole body feeling like an electrified pincushion.

He wanted he wanted he wanted he wanted God please make it stop!

With a silent yell, Bucky slammed his shoulder into the heavy wooden doorframe of his bedroom closet, coughing back the pain of the impact and spinning around to do the other side. He really wanted to hit his head until his brains dripped down the frame and didn't bother him anymore. Bucky knew better than to do permanent damage to his body, but it sure as hell wasn't gonna stop him from doing some temporary damage when he had to.

Clumsily knocking a loose fist of knuckles against the wood as he passed, Bucky made it to the bathroom and flicked on the light; it hurt, it buzzed, but he was too frazzled to care. He knew Steve hated it when he messed up his face, but even that couldn't stop him from doing it sometimes; self-harm was the very real, dark side of stimming; and as much as it hurt (both inside and out) to pick his skin until it bled, it hurt worse not to.

Goddammit, why couldn't he just leave his face alone?!

Bucky gritted his teeth as another red spot seeped up through his bruising skin; it was kind of like Lady Macbeth trying to scrub that spot out of her hand, only to have it drive her mad by the end of the play. He didn't even feel like they were his hands he was using, or his face, he was just a spectator that got dragged along for the ride.

Whether it was the calming repetition of picking holes in his skin, or some tiny bit of endorphins helping him think clearer, Bucky didn't know, but he took the brief reprieve to get the hell out of the bathroom before he started on his knees. 

He'd known he'd been doing too much the last couple of weeks, but he hadn't expected to crash so soon, or so hard; usually it took years to build up enough stress to trigger a burnout, but weeks? It was kind of a scary thought.

The sound of his phone ringing from the kitchen, made Bucky grimace and start shaking his arms again; he knew it was Steve calling to check in with him from work, but there was no way he could send a coherent text, let alone answer the phone at the moment. He did manage to hit the silence button and get a quick peek at the time.

How was it eleven o'clock already?! He'd spent two and a half hours in that damn bathroom, and another hour just getting out of bed! What the hell was his problem today?!

Ah God can't can't can't can't can't think can't think can't think can't think can't think what am I supposed to be doing don't know don't know don't know-

Frustrated tears stung Bucky's cheeks while his balled fists trembled at his sides; he knew he'd been standing in the middle of his kitchen long enough for Steve to call two more times, but the hell if he could figure out how to call him back.

...

Steve wasn't worried when Bucky didn't answer his phone; sometimes he was busy, sometimes he just wasn't up to talking, but he always, always sent a text to let Steve know he was alright. Nope, he was scared when after three calls in almost an hour, not so much as a smiley face had been sent back to him.

One call every fifteen minutes was not excessive in Bucky's case; Steve trusted the hell out of Bucky, but he didn't trust his disability not to throw him for a loop once in a while. It was a tricky dance not to step on Bucky's autonomy while also not leaving him to muddle through unhealthy situations alone.

"And this is why I was doing freelance work."

"Talking to yourself, Rogers?" Tony strode into the studio, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he glanced over the wall sized cork board holding Steve's drawings. "They say it's a sign of genius, and judging by these drafts I have to say I agree."

"If only. I'm glad you like them, sir."

 "As I've said before, the name's Tony. And something's bothering you." Perching backwards on a chair, Tony produced a packet of trail mix, offering it to Steve, then taking some himself when it was turned down. "Why were you mumbling to yourself about freelance work when I came in? Job not suiting you?"

Steve looked like he really wanted to say something, but he just shook his head. "The job's great. The salary's great, the people are great, you're a great boss, I just... I don't think I can keep the hours you need me to come in."

"Then make your own hours." Tony tossed back a handful of dried fruit with a casual shrug. "I give you a deadline, you get the drafts to me by then, you work on them whenever you work best. We've got a 24-hour cafe in the lobby for a reason, ya know."

"I- are you sure?"

Tony clapped Steve's shoulder once before sauntering back out of the studio to get on with his own work. "You're an artist, Steve. I expect you to be a little eccentric."

...

Steve swore lightly under his breath as he fumbled to get Bucky's spare key in the lock. Not only had Bucky not answered his last text Steve had sent on his way out of the Stark Tower, he also wasn't answering his door. Steve didn't want to let his imagination come up with the rest.

"Got it!"

Steve shoved the key back in his pocket, and opened the door. He wasn't really sure what he expected, but finding Bucky standing in his kitchen, still in his t-shirt and boxers, staring blankly at the floor, unfortunately wasn't a huge surprise. Letting out a quiet sigh, Steve walked around to where Bucky could see him, and held out his hand.

"Hey, Buck. Got a little worried when you didn't text me this morning; thought you ran off to climb Everest without me."

Bucky's shoulders shook once faintly, then harder and longer as he started crying again.

Dropping his hand down to where Bucky's lay clenched by his side, Steve carefully tapped his fist once, then waited for Bucky to tell him what to do. The process was painfully slow, but Steve knew Bucky was doing his best in an incredibly frustrating situation.

tap... tap.. tap. tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Bucky was stimming again. That was good.

"Are you sick or hurt?"

tap. tap. no.

"Did you eat today?"

tap. tap. no.

"Can you walk to the living room?"

...tap. yes.

Steve waited for Bucky to clench and unclench his hands a few times, and begin a stiff shuffle into the next room. When he was close enough to the couch, Bucky stopped and waited for Steve to rearrange the blankets and pillows for him. When he was finished, Bucky leaned his head on Steve's chest for a moment, heaving a sigh and letting his shoulders slump.

"Do you want a hug?"

tap. tap. tap. don't know.

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, and tapped Bucky's hand once to tell him it was okay. Bucky sighed again and moved back to lay down on the couch.

"I brought my laptop in case you wanted to watch something different." Steve stayed in sight of the living room, grabbing his laptop from where he'd left it on the counter, then sat with his back against Bucky's couch where he could still tap his shoulder. "YouTube okay?"

tap. yes.

Steve logged into his account and brought up the page with all of his and Bucky's saved playlists, then waited for Bucky to point to the one he wanted.

Cooking videos. He must have been having a really bad day.

"Good choice. I was wondering what to eat tonight." Steve heard Bucky sigh, not quite so despondently as before, so he let himself relax a little and tried to watch Bucky's program.

It wasn't easy to take care of Bucky when they weren't always together; and sure, it was great that Tony had given him the freedom to take off time whenever he needed, but the reality was that someday, Bucky would need help, and Steve wouldn't be there to do it. Steve wished he could shelter Bucky from every last thing that made his life harder, but he knew that he couldn't, and he knew that wasn't how Bucky wanted to live.

The steady tap, tap, tap on the back of Steve's shoulder made his heart as happy and content as it made him sad and scared, but he knew he wouldn't trade his life with Bucky for anything on earth.

Still, if he could make Bucky's life any easier, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had a full Meltdown/Shutdown, but I've had plenty of experience with Burnout. If you start to feel like life is getting to be too hectic, please, please, please take care of yourself! Grab a blanket, a stuffed animal, a pet, a cuddle buddy, some snacks and videos, and take some time to rest. <3 
> 
> Tomorrow's chapter will be pure, peaceful fluff, I promise. <3


	21. Fingertips

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

When Steve opened his eyes that morning to Bucky's tired smile, his heart let out a sigh of relief. Bad days were miserable for Bucky, that went without saying, but they were also draining for Steve; especially the days when there was nothing he could do but wait for the storm to pass.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

When Bucky opened his eyes that morning to Steve frowning in his sleep, he knew he was in for a day of fussing if he didn't pull his act together. No, that was mean; Steve just worried a lot about him, and with good reason; he just didn't want Steve to neglect his own needs in the process.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Steve wasn't expecting the warm cuddle Bucky gave him that morning, or the kisses, or the sincere eye contact, but he'd admit they all helped to ease some of his guilt. Bucky wasn't clueless to his emotions, that was for sure; he just took his time, and responded in his own way.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Bucky knew he'd need to take the day slowly if he was going to make it through at all, and what better start than making sure the guy he loved knew just how much he appreciated him. Steve wasn't clueless to nonverbal communication; in fact, he said loved it because "words get in the way sometimes of what you really want to say", and Bucky couldn't agree more.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

It was Steve who got out of bed first, not because he wanted to, but because he knew Bucky wouldn't remember to eat if he didn't. Bucky took his hand when he offered, followed him to the kitchen, snuggled up to his back while he made cinnamon toast and tea. Bucky didn't even pull a face when Steve cut his toast in strips.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Steve may have made breakfast, but Bucky washed up after, with Steve taking his turn as big spoon. Steve was the best pressure weight Bucky could have asked for; Steve's big arms around his waist, Steve's chin on his shoulder, Steve's solid chest against his back. Steve Steve Steve.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

No movies, no phones, no noise; only autumn sunlight through curtains, warm blankets, a soft couch, and an even softer companion. Bucky's hair was a little dirty, and he smelled like a stressful day, and his stubble tickled something terrible, but in Steve's biased eyes, he was perfect.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Was there ever a time when Steve wasn't as beautiful as the artwork he created? If there was, Bucky was sure he'd never seen it. Not to say that Steve was superficially beautiful; far from it; his kindness and care for others was what made him beautiful, inside and out.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Sometime between the sunlight moving from one wall to the next, Bucky turned over in Steve's arms so they were spooning again, snuggled into his chest, Steve's arms around his middle, two pairs of long legs stretched out over the couch like comfortable vines basking in the sun's warmth.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Bucky watched Steve's hands rise and fall with his breath, one on his stomach, one on his chest, long fingers and faded summer freckles, strong and soft and oh so warm. When he heaved a contented sigh, Steve squeezed him a little bit more in agreement.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

When Steve felt Bucky fall asleep in his arms, then, and only then, he closed his own eyes to rest. Bucky's solid presence was a gift; one that he'd come to rely on as much as cherish. In all of his life, Bucky was the one constant, a light in the dark, a safe harbor, a home. A feather light kiss pressed to Bucky's temple, and Steve was asleep in moments.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

When Bucky woke again, it was to Steve's rumbling snores vibrating through his back. The sun was nearly gone, and he was hungry, but how often did he actually get to catch Steve sleeping? Not often enough. Steve was an over-responsible martyr who never let himself rest. Well, Bucky wasn't having that.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

When Steve woke up, the room was dark, and his arms were empty. The sound of Bucky up walking around the kitchen made up for the emptiness a little, and the smell of warm cookies may have helped a bit more, though really, if Bucky was feeling better, that's all Steve needed to be happy.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Bucky was almost, almost, up to talking again by the end of dinner, but he decided not to; it wasn't every day he got to listen to the silence. It had its own language; heartbeats, whispers, sighs, the rustle of skin on skin. Reaching over the table, he laced his fingers with Steve's with a quiet swish.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Back in bed once more, at the end of a day, with renewed hope for tomorrow. Steve waited for Bucky to get comfortable, then turned off the light, spooned him close, and kissed his neck goodnight. It may have been Bucky's day to rest, but in his own way, Steve knew Bucky had been telling him rest, too. It had been a good day and just what they both needed.

tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap

Bucky smiled to himself and closed his eyes; he'd had a beautiful, peaceful day, which Steve was more than partly responsible for; and Bucky loved him dearly, he truly did, but if Steve didn't stop that gentle tap, tap, tapping with his fingertips, they'd never get to sleep. And if they didn't sleep, they couldn't start all over again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone wonders whom was doing all the tapping, it was mostly Steve; he was trying to help Bucky feel better by engaging in one of his stims, also, he was fussing; since the tapping had helped Bucky the day before, he was hoping it would still be helpful. Steve is a sweetie. <3 
> 
> I tried a little different paragraphing style with this one, and I think it turned out pretty nice. :)
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing, wonderful, encouragement on this story. I never thought I'd get so much feedback that it's helped so many people. I am both elated and humbled. Thank you again for reading.<3


	22. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great big hug and thank you to fuckyeahdeafandasexual Royal_Ermine & BethofAus for their beautiful, kind words on the story update, (I saved them all), and hopefully the writing block has been leapt over with a ten-foot pole and we can carry on!

How many ways were there to be lost? Physically, mentally, emotionally? But what then? How did you find your way back to where you started? And what if you didn't even want to?

For once, the silence in Bucky's apartment felt heavy, suffocating, enervating. Steve was at the studio catching up on a day and a half of missed work, leaving Bucky to get some more rest.

_Rest._

Was that all his life was ever going to be? Rest, rest, and stress that needed more rest? Where was the never ending cycle going to end? He wanted so much more; he wanted to do big things, he wanted to do little things, he wanted to do things for himself, he wanted to do things for Steve, for his sister, for the world.

At what point did rest and stress become indistinguishable? At what point did you stand up and say ‘no’? At what point did you start making life do what you wanted it to?

Bucky struggled to get out of bed some days, to shower, to eat, to talk; how could he change his life without burning out every other week? His heart may want to take on the world single-handedly, but his body was still sitting in his kitchen staring at the wall.

_Lost indeed..._

Lost in his head, lost in his life, and lost everywhere else.

What was it Thoreau said about "going confidently"? Well, he had gone confidently; he'd put himself out there, tried to connect, tried to make a difference in his life, and look where he ended up.

Bucky wanted to text Steve, to reach out for the one solid anchor in his life, to never have to let go. But Steve was drifting away; not on purpose, not even all that far; but just out of reach where Bucky could still see him, but not hold on anymore.

Breaking free of his trance, Bucky dragged himself on with his day; he had dishes to wash, laundry to do, a shower to take, and to knitting to work on. It all felt so busy and unsatisfying, but until he could figure out how to get un-lost, there wasn't much more he could do.


	23. Wishes

Was wishing even useful? Bucky had wishes, and he knew Steve had wishes, but would they ever get them?

If there was just one wish that could come true, though...

For Bucky that would be having his disability magically disappear; unlikely, but true. And for Steve? Oh, Bucky knew exactly what Steve wished for; he'd known for a long time, he just hadn't been up to granting it. Steve wanted Bucky to live with him, wanted to take better care of him on bad days, wanted to share the joy of his good days, wanted to spend more time together just because he loved him.

Bucky loved Steve, too, don't get him wrong; but giving up what scrap of independence he had was not something he could do overnight. In truth, he'd been trying to work his way up to the idea for years, but every time he was ready to say "yes" something always happened to remind him why he hadn't.

Well, it wasn't like he had much argument for living alone, did he? That wasn't the real question, though, not really; if autism wasn't a part of his life, would he have moved in with Steve already?

Yes.

No hesitation, no backing out, no excuses. Steve was Bucky's best friend, his family, his partner. There was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for Steve, or at least try to; Steve was the whole world and the sun and the stars, and Bucky loved him.

Maybe it was time to move on, or in, as the case may be. Time to stop looking at circumstances and start looking at Steve. Autism wasn't going anywhere; Bucky knew he could spend his entire life fighting and chasing and wearing himself out, or he could spend every single day enjoying life with his best friend.

When put into that kind of perspective, there was no question. It wasn't about independence; in fact, it could well be the most independent action Bucky ever took; it was about love.

With something soft and solid and warm finally settling into his bones, Bucky grabbed his phone to look a few things up online. If he was going to give Steve the best Christmas present next to homemade socks, he had a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Methinks an exciting change in the tide cometh this way!


	24. Breakable

Many things could be broken; dishes, windows, bones; but not promises. Not if you worked hard enough to keep them.

Keeping a promise to yourself was harder than keeping one to someone else; you could forget, procrastinate, give up, decide you didn't want to, or that it wasn't worth the effort. Bucky was learning that fact first hand the more he thought about moving in with Steve; old thought patterns and habits kept bombarding him from every side, reminding him of all the times he'd tried and failed to take the last step. It was exhausting, and frankly, Bucky was sick of it.

With the number of breaks he took, he'd be lucky to be ready by Christmas at all; there was years worth of old junk he needed to sort through, as well as keeping up with his daily routine, not to mention making sure he knew exactly what was going to happen to his health insurance when he started living with another person.

Taking a break was sounding better by the minute.

As soon as Bucky got up to make a snack, the nagging thoughts started in on a fresh tangent; what if Steve didn't want him to move in anymore? What if getting his new job had made Steve see just how little he and Bucky had in common? What if Steve had finally reached the end of his patience with Bucky's never ending neediness and drama?

Shut up with the what ifs already!

Bucky jumped at the sound of Steve's ringtone coming from under a stack of papers on his table, and for a second he felt like not answering it, but he figured hearing Steve's voice might calm him down.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Just wanted to check on my best guy. You okay?"

Bucky side-eyed his messy kitchen dismally. "Eh. Yeah. I'm just going through some paperwork. Nothing spectacular. How 'bout you?"

"I had to get my first poster drafts in today, boy was that nerve wracking." Steve gave an unsteady little chuckle then quickly cleared his throat to disguise it. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in grabbing some lunch with me? I know the weather's kind of nasty, but we could get some sandwiches and find someplace quiet to eat."

Mentally giving his project a rude gesture, Bucky started collecting the things he needed to get out the door. "You don't have to ask me twice."

...

By the time Bucky had finished checking and double checking that he had everything he needed, Steve was pulling up in his station wagon, ready to take him for lunch.

"Hi, Buck- ooh, that for me?"

Bucky grinned and kissed Steve again just because he could. "Not givin' my kisses to anybody else. Where we going?"

"The usual place we get sandwiches. Although, I could upgrade that if I had a few more of those kisses."

"Sorry, pal; I like my boring old sandwiches."

Steve's laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he finally pulled out into the lunch hour traffic. "Boring old sandwiches it is. Think maybe I could have one extra kiss for dessert?"

"Sure."

Bucky smiled and Steve smiled and they fell into companionable silence for the rest of the drive. When they reached the sandwich shop, Steve offered to run in and grab their lunch if Bucky wasn't feeling up to being around people, but Bucky shook his head and followed him inside. He really liked people, he just wasn't good with interacting with them; give him a movie theater, a concert, a street fair where he could just soak up the atmosphere, and he was a happy camper.

"Aw, shoot, they're out of ALTs. Do you want me to special order one?"

Bucky brought his focus back around to Steve's worried fidgeting in front of the pre-made sandwich case and had a look for himself. There was an empty hole where his favorite sandwich was supposed to be, that was true enough, but there were plenty of his other favorites. Reaching back for a well chilled almond butter and apricot jam, Bucky gave Steve a little smirk.

"No thanks, I'm good." Bucky enjoyed the surprised little twitch in Steve's eyebrows whenever he did something out of his routine. He wasn't completely stuck in his ways, ya know.

"Right. Then I guess we’re ready to go."

Before he could rush off to the register, Bucky tugged Steve's arm and nodded to the next case. "Drinks?" Dry sandwiches were good, but not that good.

"Sorry. Green tea?"

Bucky nodded again, and followed Steve around to the register to pay for his lunch.

"My treat." Steve's smile didn't look right, so Bucky let him do what he needed to do to get back out to the car as quickly as possible. When they were finally buckled in, Bucky gently squeezed Steve's fingers, kissed them, and held them to his cheek.

"What's the matter?"

"Nerves." Steve huffed a weak laugh and squeezed Bucky's hand in return. "I know Tony's already seen my artwork and really liked it, but the new drafts have to be approved by Ms Potts, and she's one of the toughest people to please when it comes to art. If she doesn't like them... I just really don't want to lose this job."

"You won't lose it." Bucky kissed Steve's hand again, and gave him little advance on dessert. "You impressed Tony Stark, and you'll impress Ms Potts, too."

"Why's that?"

Steve's eyes looked much better; not completely free of worry, but with a little twinkle that hadn't been there before. Bucky planted Steve's hand firmly back on the steering wheel so he could drive them someplace other than a parking lot to eat their lunch.

"'Cause I said so."


	25. Friend

Bucky asked so many questions about Steve's new posters during lunch, Steve decided the best thing was just to show him. He'd been wanting Bucky to see his studio anyway, and the Tower wasn't usually too busy right after lunch; a quick security check, visitor's badge, and elevator ride later, Steve was showing Bucky into his new workspace.

"Wha'dya think?"

"Amazing... You can see the whole city from up here!"

Steve managed to stifle most of a sudden chuckle behind a well timed cough as he tidied up some loose drawings into a stack. "Mm-hm, very nice. See anything else you like?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry!" Bucky turned his back on the window and went to join Steve at his drafting table. "Which ones are the new posters?"

"These." Steve pointed to another wall covered floor to ceiling in corkboard and sketches. "They're part of an Art Deco style series of public service announcements, kind of like the WPA posters back in the 30s and 40s. Health, science, the arts; it's pretty much a dream job as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm very pleased to hear that, Mr Rogers."

Both Steve and Bucky turned as a sharply attired strawberry-blonde entered the room. Steve swallowed quickly and held out his hand.

"Ms Potts."

_ Potts. Pepper Potts. Steve's boss! _

"There's no need to look so worried, Steve, I only came down here to tell you that I reviewed your drafts this morning, and I loved them. There's something so classy about the Art Deco style, and you've brought it back beautifully. I'm so sorry, where are my manners? Mr...?"

"James Barnes, ma'am." Bucky had purposely kept his hand pressed to the leg of his jeans to prevent it from getting sweaty, and he was very glad that he had. "Steve was just showing me some sketches from the poster series. I hope that's alright."

"Perfectly. Unless you're here to steal his ideas, of course." Bucky smiled politely at Pepper's joke (yes, he could tell she was joking) then stepped back to allow her to speak with Steve about work related topics. When she turned to leave, Pepper shook both their hands one more time. "It was a pleasure meeting you, James; I hope we'll meet again sometime. Steve, I'll be sure to tell the office to forward your work straight to my desk every time it comes in."

"Thank you, Ms Potts." Steve waited until he heard the hall elevator close, then let out a gusty breath. "Phew. Can you believe it?! Pepper Potts actually likes my work!"

"And that surprises you because..."

"Jerk." Steve bumped his shoulder with Bucky's, remembering a little too late to warn him first. "Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

"Didn't even notice." Not strictly true, but Bucky was far from having a fit, and he really was happy for Steve. "You did good, Stevie. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Buck. I wouldn't be here without you, ya know?"

"Sure you would. All I did was drag you through three semesters of high-school art classes because I was too scared to go on my own. You did everything else. You got you here, Steve."

"Well," Steve's face was soft all over, lines smoothed and worry gone as he laced his fingers with Bucky's to return his earlier hand kiss. "I'm glad you're here right now. There's nobody else I'd rather share this with."

If a heart full of happy little butterflies was anything to go by, Bucky couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the 1930s and 1940s, the Works Projects Administration released at least 2,000 posters to bring awareness to community activities, national parks, health and safety issues, theater and arts exhibits, as well as propaganda posters during WWII.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here to check out the Library of Congress WPA posters collection. ](http://www.loc.gov/pictures/search/?st=grid&co=wpapos)


	26. Realization

Sometimes realization washed over you like a gentle autumn drizzle, and sometimes it really didn’t. Bucky was having one of the not-so-gentle sort of realizations about his project; in the last week’s shuffle of burnout, resting, more resting, making a new promise to himself, and going to see Steve’s art studio, he’d completely forgotten to work on it. Nat and Clint were going to be sending him their pieces soon, and he’d barely done more than take a few pictures. Well, okay, more than a few, but you get the point.

Hurrying to finish his breakfast to get to the library as soon as it opened, Bucky left his dishes in the sink for later, (rinsed), and got ready to go. What was his theme again? Nature? Leaves, definitely; and something else… loneliness, peace, perspective?

Thankfully there wasn’t a line for the lab computers, and Bucky logged on without any fuss; he had a half-full memory card of photos to go through, but he figured he had the exact gems he needed buried somewhere in the depths. All he had to do was find them.

Leaves, leaves, leaves, grass, grass, grass, grass, grass, bugs, birds, flowers, more grass, more leaves, ooh Steve!, tree bark, leaves… oh…

Feeling something between awe and a silent giggle, Bucky scrolled down to the pictures Steve had taken of him during their picnic. They were… it was hard to describe; almost as good as Steve’s drawings. Bucky was looking at himself, he knew that, but also a part of Steve, too; the part that saw him as he was, a wild force of nature; beautiful in his imperfection, perfect in his roughness, everything and nothing all rolled up in something, and Steve had managed to capture every single part.

One or two of the photos stood out from the rest; background colors vibrantly contrasting with the tones of leaves and clothes and hair; so after saving them to his editing program, Bucky continued scrolling with renewed purpose and vision. Twelve leaf close-ups, some insects, and an amazingly crooked tree later, Bucky collapsed his photos and started work on his editing. Playing around with colors and form and composition gave his mind space to wander around to other things, too.

Things like moving in with Steve.

Was surprising Steve really the best idea, or should he just tell Steve he was ready? Did Steve’s new job pay well enough to support two people, one with disability related expenses? Should he start looking for jobs again, before, after, now, later? Maybe it would be better to have Steve’s reassurances that this was really what he wanted, and not Bucky’s own imagination running away from him.

Was he trying to talk himself out of his promise? No. Was anxiety getting the better of him? No, but it was giving it one hell of a try… Another thing Bucky knew he’d need to realize sooner than later, was that stress of any kind was no longer an option if he didn’t want to spend his days in the house recovering from burnout. Steve, art projects, paperwork; all of it had to come second to staying rested and calm.

Hearing his playlist come to an end, Bucky refocused on what he’d accomplished on his collage; slightly clashing colors, still undecided on a few pictures, but on a whole, not bad at all. When Clint and Nat’s artwork came in, it would be much easier to judge the color palate, but for the moment, Bucky was pretty pleased with the results.

Too bad he couldn’t just use all the pictures Steve had taken of him, or the ones he’d taken of Steve. Then again, who said he couldn’t? A special collage, as a present, just because? To Bucky, it sounded like the perfect way to spend a stress-free hour before heading home. 

After all, he still had dishes to do…


	27. Cage

On low energy mornings, rice crispies didn't just snap, crackle, and pop, they tended to jump out of the bowl and do cartwheels across the table. Luckily for Bucky, armed with a trusty spoon and a will to eat, he was more than a match for them. Maybe watching a short cooking video on his phone would help, too...

Oh, 1 unread email, wonder who that’s from...

"Hey, Bucky. Nat here with the finished product of a very painful week. Before you ask, I loved working on it; I rarely get the opportunity to really dig in and make something creative just for fun, so, thank you. The title is 'Cage' and it represents the negative side of having a disability. Clint's been making a piece for the positive side, and I have to say, it is amazing. If you drop me a note when you get this, I'll tell Clint to kick his ass in gear. :p Talk to ya later, Nat."

What a great surprise to wake up to!

Abandoning his cereal to its soggy fate, Bucky tapped open the attachment Nat had included in their email, and tried to work out whether he could squeeze an hour at the library into his day. Nat's project turned out to be a poem in beautiful calligraphy, jet black Cyrillic style lettering on a smooth ivory background, interrupted by flecks, spots, and blotches of blood red ink.

Enclosed with the scan was a translation of the poem in an easier to read font.

-

[A cage

Made of flesh and bone, made

To glow and gleam and fly, instead turned to rust and ruin

Why

Do we who have the strength of lambs, still

Feel like wolves, hungry for life's joys

When

The light of a new morning brings only, more

Madness and suffering, gnawing at our bones and skin

I

Hollow and overflowing with the, pain

And anguish of losing another day

We

You and I, hear each silent scream, when

The pain has turned the clock into an instrument of

Torture

Each second an hour, a day, a year, infinite

And intimate as death's caress, held just beyond reach

Why

They ask, while tears stain my, cheeks

Do I not stand and dance and sing, take my place in the world

Because

The world has no place for me, with

My twisted life, my heart, my mind, my pain, a puppet on life's strings

Waiting

For that once in a lifetime chance, to

Breathe, to laugh, to be, myself, my own, without this

Cage]

_-_

Setting down his phone, Bucky took a few minutes to sit back and think about the feelings Nat had been expressing in their poem. It was about physical pain, obviously, but so much more; frustration, isolation, despair, anger, sadness, humanity; every facet of the human condition magnified until nothing made sense anymore. Being told to "join the dance", then being ostracized for merely existing. It was painful to read, but unflinchingly true.

Well, Nat certainly deserved a reply after pouring their heart out like that.

"Nat, your poem is really beautiful. If I had enough words of my own, I could go on all day about how much I love it, but since I don't, I'll just let your words speak for themselves. Tell Clint I'm really looking forward to seeing his project, and give Liho and Lucky scratches for me. :) Bucky."

Well, two down, one to go...


	28. Power

A few hours after receiving Nat's poem, Bucky was taking a break from sorting junk out of his bedroom closet when he found an email from Clint. Just like Nat’s, it included a photo attachment; and, just as Nat had said, that photo was incredibly cool.

"Project's finished! Nat says all artwork needs a title, so the title is officially "Power", but between the three of us it's "how I hear music". Remember I play drums with my brother's band and shoot paintballs? Well, I figured why not put the two ideas together? I can hear some sound with my hearing aids, but not enough detail to really enjoy listening to music; which is where the vibrations come in. Being deaf doesn't stop me from playing music; when I do, I feel the power of it with my whole body, and I guess you could say it makes me feel powerful, too. Can't wait to see your pictures and the finished collage! Lucky says thanks for the scratch, but Liho just stuck their tail in the air. :) (p.s. Nat says to tell you since Liho has never indicated their prefered pronouns, we use neutral ones.)”

Tapping open the attachment, Bucky could see right away that power was the right name for Clint's painting. An all black canvas splattered with the most vibrant assortment of colors; yellow, pink, red, blue, green, and big splashes of purple; then photographed to show up the detail in the canvas weave.

Quickly checking his phone's clock, Bucky decided to go to the library while he still had a chance at using a computer, (as well as fresh enthusiasm for his project). He already had a good idea how he wanted the collage to look; "Nature" on the lower left corner spreading towards the upper left and lower right corners, "Power" on the right side vibrating straight at the middle, with "Cage" dripping down the top and center. A quick note to Clint on the way out the door, and Bucky was ready to make some magic.

"Awesome painting! :D I'm heading to the library now to start on the collage, so hopefully I'll have it done in the next day or so. I’ll send it back to you and Nat as soon as it’s finished. Bucky :)"

...

By the time Bucky got home that afternoon, he was 99% satisfied with the way the collage had turned out, (while the other 1% insisted on being an insufferable fussbudget), and ready to send it on to Nat and Clint for approval before posting it (or not, he didn’t really care which) for the world to see.

“Here’s the finished product of our collective views on disability and life; “Cage”, “Power”, and “Nature”. I hope you like how I’ve put them together, and that you had as much fun working on them as I did. I didn’t make up a name for the piece as a whole because it’s really about all of us, and I think that’s how it should be. Let me know if you’d like to keep this as a private project or post it to tumblr (I’m fine with it either way), and I’ll do it. It’s been a great experience working with you both, and if you ever want to do this again, I’d really enjoy that. Thank you for answering my post. All the best, Bucky”

Taking one good deep breath, Bucky sent the message on it’s way to Clint and Nat. Once again, everything was out of his hands, but this time he didn’t feel quite so nervous; at least not bad nervous. Happy nervous? Yeah. But like Clint’s paintball painting, he felt kind of powerful, too.

Power was a good feeling; and so was pain, and loneliness, and joy, and awkwardness, and just plain being human. Everything, all of life, was one heck of a wild ride, but in general, Bucky wouldn’t want it any other way.  


	29. Invitation

Weekends were like cats; sometimes they nuzzled up and gave you a warm feeling, and sometimes they pounced on you without any warning.

Oh sure, Saturday started out quiet enough; hot shower, breakfast, chatting with Nat and Clint about this, that, and whatever, doing more sorting and organizing... then Steve came over. Normally, Bucky was only too happy to see his boyfriend, but not so much when the first thing that came out of said boyfriend's mouth went along the lines of "Will you please go with me to an art reception at Stark Tower on Halloween?"

Now Steve dropped some doozy surprises on occasion, but this one took the cake. "You want me to what?"

"I said; will you please go with me to an art reception at Stark Tower on Halloween?"

"That's what I thought you said." Bucky withered a little at the prospect. "Why ask me? I mean, I'm terrible at fancy parties. I never know what to do, I never know what to say, I'm awkward as hell, I bump into stuff, I always forget where I put my drink, I never eat anything..."

"Bucky..." Steve sighed and leaned his back against the kitchen counter, tucking his arms across his chest.  "I know how you feel about parties, I don't like them either; this one's really important, though. If anyone there likes my art, I might get a few more commissions, but if things don't work out, I'd like to know I've got someone there who gives a damn. I know I'm asking a lot, but-"

"No, you're not, I just... I don't want to make you look bad in front of your boss or anybody else." Bucky stepped forward to lean his head on Steve's shoulder. "I haven't been to a party in years."

"I wouldn't be going myself if I didn't have to." Steve wrapped Bucky up in a hug and kissed his temple. "I'm sorry this is so last minute, I didn't get the invitation until this afternoon on my way out of the studio."

"Do I need to wear a suit?"

"I don't think so. I don't even know if my suit fits anymore; I was a lot smaller in the arms last time I wore it."

"You used to be a toothpick." Steve felt Bucky chuckle into the rock-solid bicep in question. "Can you help me pick something? I want to look good for your big night."

"You," Steve gave Bucky one more kiss and led him toward the bedroom, "would make anyplace amazing just by walking into the room."

In the end, they found an outfit that not only looked very nice, but was also going to be very comfortable, (as well as having pockets for a subtle stim or two), though most of the time in between clothes sorting was spent cuddling. And as far as Saturdays went, that was just fine with Bucky.


	30. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter contains mild language.**

Since they were going to the Stark party together, Bucky had no trouble in convincing Steve to stay the night with him beforehand. A good night's sleep was essential for efficient functioning. Yep, it sure was... to bad anticipation caused insomnia.

It wasn't that Bucky didn't want to go to the party, he was actually looking forward to seeing how Steve's pastel had turned out, it was just that he felt like he had too many secrets that could all go wrong...

Was Stark Industries' non-discrimination policy good enough for Steve to bring Bucky as his partner and still keep his job?

What about stimming? Was tapping your fingers against your leg a socially acceptable stim? What about listening to music on an mp3?

If things went south sensory-wise, would there be a quiet space to retreat to?

If Steve received lots of offers for commissions, he wouldn't have time to keep an eye on Bucky's anxiety levels as well as his prospective buyers.

If Steve didn't get any offers, Bucky'd have to keep an eye on Steve's depression levels as well as his own sensory ones.

Socializing was a pain in the ass to prepare for… at least cuddling on the couch in front of a movie helped make up for it a little.

"Hey." Steve moved his hand up to brush his fingers through Bucky's hair, looking down at him with his big softie expression. "I just want you to know I really appreciate you doing this for me. I know I don't have the right to ask you to, but it means a lot to me."  

"It's not about rights, Steve; it's just one of those things you do for family." Bucky smiled a little, then laced his fingers with the ones on Steve's other hand. "You'd do the same for me."

"I would... What I want to know right now is, why the wrinkly forehead? We've already gone over what's going to happen, and we can certainly go over it again as many times as it takes for you to feel ready."

"It's not that, it's... I just feel like too much could go wrong, and it'd be my fault. I'm full of secrets, and it's making me tired trying to figure out how to keep them all in." Seeing that Steve was waiting for an explanation, Bucky sighed and closed his eyes so he could concentrate. "Do your bosses and coworkers know you're gay? Am I going as your date or your friend? Does my stimming need to be kept under control, because you know I can when I have to, and-"

"Bucky." Steve squeezed Bucky's hand to get his attention and calm him down. "I came out to Tony during our first interview, and he was fine with it; and since he's the guy who signs the paychecks, I'm not too worried about losing my job. You can come as either a friend or a date, whichever you'd be most comfortable with. And no, I don't want you to hold in your stimming, Bucky, you need that. If you choose to, that's entirely up to you, but don't do it for anyone else, no matter who they are."

You know, Steve was really a good guy. And he sure knew how to get rid of forehead wrinkles. "You mean all that, don't you?"

"Every word. Everyone has secrets, Buck, but loving you and all you are, is not one of them."

Steve let go of Bucky's hands so he could roll himself into a closer snuggle. Well, it wasn't like Bucky was the only one who had a secret...


	31. Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter contains mild language**

"Ready?"

"Yeah." Bucky shook his hands out one last time before stepping out of the car. "I'm good. Hey." One quick kiss planted itself on Steve's cheek with a lopsided grin. "Go knock some socks off."

"Right." Steve's own lopsided grin was framed in a light blush glowing in the glare of the Tower's parking garage lighting, and he was just about to return the kiss when a member of security interrupted by waving them towards the elevator. "Oh well, more kisses for later, I guess. Come on, I wanna show off my artwork to my best guy."

The security clearance process went smoothly, as did the elevator ride to the eighty-first floor, and the not-too-loud music that met them as they stepped off the elevator wasn't bad either. At first glance, Bucky thought he may not be as quite in over his head as he'd worried, but the sight of Steve's boss,  _ The Tony Stark, _ racing over in a blur of red and gold, had him wondering why he'd ever been calm in the first place..

"If it isn't the man of the hour! Glad you could make it, Steve; I was getting worried I'd have to present Pepper's gift all by myself." Without so much as a breath between sentences, Tony turned to Bucky with an equally wide grin. "And you are?"

Quickly holding out his hand, Bucky tightened his jaw so he wouldn't stutter. "James Barnes. It's nice to meet you Mr Stark."

"Nice to meet you, too. Help yourselves to drinks, fellas; if you'll excuse me, I think I'm being summoned."

Tony zipping off into the crowd left Bucky's head reeling a little, but Steve's hand settling into the small of his back helped his breathing level out.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Good." Steve smiled and patted Bucky's back. "'Cause there's someone here I think you'd like to meet."

"Who's that?" To the best of his knowledge, Bucky didn't know anyone at the party except Ms Potts.

"Hey Steve." Bucky turned at the gentle gravelly voice near his right elbow. "Bucky?"

Black wheelchair, red asymmetrical undercut, black outfit, electric blue bracelets."Nat?"

"That's me." Nat smirked in way that made Bucky feel at ease. "It's nice to put a face to the name. Clint's here, too."

"Oh?" Bucky was starting to feel light headed again. It wasn't bad, necessarily, but it was getting there. "Where?"

"Oh, somewhere. Probably raiding the food table. Steve asked if I'd keep you company while he's up doing his artist statement thing. Is that alright with you?"

"Uh, y-yeah, sure. That's- that's okay. I didn't know you and Steve knew each other."

Seeing Nat nod to him to explain, Steve rejoined the conversation. "Nat writes articles for Pepper in the Philanthropy department. We've been working together on a few of the posters."

"Oh." Bucky wasn't sure what to say after that, but he was spared the decision by having to cover his ears as Tony's voice boomed over the speaker system.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to thank you all for coming to our little soirée this evening, and to welcome our very talented guest artist, Steve Rogers! Now, where are you, Steve?"

"Gotta go." Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder once, then made his way through the crowd to the central exhibit area at the head of the room. When a small microphone was clipped to his jacket, Steve kept his speech simple, quiet, and to the point. "Thank you, Tony. It's an honor to be here."

"It's my pleasure, Steve, you are quite the talented artist. I understand you studied art for a while, and since then have been doing primarily freelance work?"

"Yes, mostly portraiture. Oils, acrylic, chalk, charcoal, pencil; any medium I can get my hands on, really."

A few polite laughs tittered around the room, making Steve blush a little. Tony, however, didn't miss a beat. "A real renaissance man. There is one medium you forgot to mention in your list of talents. Ms Potts, may I ask you to step this way, please?"

Pepper, Bucky noted, who was wearing her usual stiletto heels, was actually about two inches taller than Tony. "My goodness, Tony, what are you up to?" Pepper's tone was hard to get a read on, but Bucky figured it was well intentioned.

"Well, you know me. As it's your birthday next week, I commissioned Steve here make you a little something. Steve, will you do the honors?"

Even from a distance, Steve looked like he'd rather be somewhere else, but like a trooper he gave a shy smile and pulled aside the curtain hiding his artwork. Not only did the crowd give a collective gasp of appreciation, Pepper looked ready to cry.

"Oh, Steve, it's beautiful! It's pastel, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Oil pastel on handmade paper."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you, Tony. And thank you, Steve, for sharing your amazing talent with us this evening."

If he hadn't needed to cover his ears, Bucky would have been clapping louder than anyone else; as it was, Nat and Clint were doing a pretty good job of it themselves. Clint even threw in an extra sharp off-key whistle until Nat jabbed him in the thigh to stop.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, man, didn't mean to hurt your ears. You're Bucky, right?"

Bucky waited until the applause died down, then nodded. "Yeah. Nice to meet you. Do you know Steve, too?"

"Sorry, you're gonna have to talk facing me so I can lip-read. I busted one of my hearing aids right before I came here."

Nat signed something that Bucky could only guess was a question of some sort, then rolled their eyes at the reply. "If you're too overstimulated to make eye contact, I can translate."

Bucky nodded his thanks, and blew out a breath to calm himself down from the noise. "Do y-you know Steve?"

Nat's hands flickered briefly in Bucky's peripherals, then Clint answered. "Nope. I'm here with Nat. You?"

"He's..." Might as well be honest. "He's my boyfriend."

Bucky watched Nat fold their right hand closed at their forehead, then alternated hooking their index fingers twice. "Oh, cool. Have you tried the pizza bites yet, they're awesome!"

Nat shoved Clint playfully and turned back to Bucky. "Maybe we should ask Steve to make something for the next collage. He showed "Nature" to me the other day when I was in to check on one of the posters. That's how we figured out we both know you."

"Huh?"

The room was getting too loud. Bucky's hight hand had completely bypassed finger tapping for full out shaking while the left squeezed tightly around his pocketed mp3 player. Bucky didn't notice Clint had gone again until Nat was gently touching his arm.

"Bucky? I've sent Clint to tell Steve I'm gonna show you to a quiet room. Okay?"

Bucky managed to give a tight nod and follow Nat through the crowd to the back of the room where they pointed to a door to their left. "I can't grip the doorknob, but there's a small lounge in there with soundproof walls."

Bucky made his right hand stop shaking long enough to get the door and hold it open for Nat, then let it fall closed softly behind him. The room was so quiet it made Bucky's ears ring; it was dark, too, but as Nat didn't make any move to turn on a light, Bucky didn't either. He just sat down on the floor and listened to his own breathing interspersed with the occasional hissing sound from Nat.

"Sorry. Should have asked if you were okay. You need anything?"

"No, thanks." Nat huffed uncomfortably, but still sounded upbeat. "I took some painkillers before I came, and I'm not trying to walk, so... thanks for asking, though. Are you okay?"

"Better. Thanks for bringing me here."

"No problem. I was getting a headache out there, myself. When you're feeling up to it, would you mind a little company? I know Pepper wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Well, it's kind of a surprise, but I guess I could give you a hint." Nat took a deep-ish breath, but Bucky could tell they sounded excited. "I showed her the collage we made when I was here the other day, and she loved it so much, she let me print it up as a full sized poster."

"Ehh!"

"Are you okay, Bucky?"

"Hm-mm!" No, no, no, no, no, no, he was not okay! Oh, God, where was- "Steve?!"

"I'll go get him." Nat turned their wheelchair around, then swore when they bumped into the wall. "Shit! Bucky, you're gonna have to open the door."

Stumbling to his feet, Bucky felt around with two very shaky hands until he located the doorknob, but hearing voices on the other side made him freeze up and start breathing harder. 

"I think they're in here!" Clint's voice.

"Thank you, Mr Barton!" Pepper Potts.

"Nat? Bucky? Can we come in?" Steve. And he was nice enough to knock first.

Bucky didn't have the words to answer, but his hands had stopped shaking enough for him to open the door; and even though he was pretty sure he looked like a scared owl, no one said anything, except Pepper.

"I'm sorry that got so loud out there. Let's have a little light, shall we?"

Bucky flinched, expecting another flood of spotlights to come on, but was pleasantly relieved when muted lighting illuminated recessed niches around the room. A room with his collage mounted on an easel in one corner.

If he didn't feel so much like throwing up, Bucky would have sworn that Steve looked happy for some reason.

"Would you like some water, James?"

Pepper- Ms Potts- Mrs Stark- was waiting calmly and patiently for a reply. Taking a deep breath, Bucky gripped his hands tightly behind his back until he could feel his nails digging into his skin.

"No, thank you, ma'am. You wanted to talk to me?"

"I do, very much. I think another time might be better, under the circumstances, but if you'd like to come to the office sometime soon, that would be perfect." Pepper's smile was as genuine as ever, but Bucky didn't dare loosen his grip; not just yet. "I'd like to offer you a job, if you're interested. In photography or graphic design."

Bucky knew Steve and Nat and Pepper and Clint were all being incredibly nice to him, but in all honesty, he felt he was being put on the spot, whether or not that was anyone's intention. "I'll contact you later this week, Ms Potts. Is it alright if I leave now?"

"Of course. Would you like me to call a limo to take you home?"

Before Bucky could answer, Steve interrupted with an apologetic raise of his hand. "I was just on my way out. I can take you, if you want."

"Well, that's settled, then. I look forward to hearing from you, James. Thank you, again, Steve for the lovely portrait. Good night."

Bucky didn't look at Nat or Clint when they said goodbye, or even Steve for that matter as they rode home in silence; he had a lot to think about, and no desire, or energy, to do it. When Steve pulled up in front of Bucky's apartment building, he fidgeted his fingers on the steering wheel, not really sure what to say, but Bucky beat him to it.

"Did you know she was gonna do that?"

"Pepper? No, I didn't. I knew Nat wanted to make a poster of your collage, but that was all. Did I... did I do something wrong?"

Bucky leaned his head back on the seat with a long sigh, letting his hands twitch tiredly in his lap. "I don't know... I wish you would have told me beforehand. I really hate surprises for a reason, and I know it was meant to be nice, but it was just... too much at once. Even if it was just the party it would have been pushing it."

"I'm sorry." And Bucky knew he was, too. He always knew with Steve. "How do you want me to fix it?"

"No more surprises?" Bucky smiled a tired little smile at Steve and opened his left hand for him to take. "At least until Christmas."

"Deal." Steve folded Bucky's cold hand into his warm one with a tired smile of his own. "And then I'll tell you what you're getting."

"Jerk." Speaking of Christmas surprises... "I've been sorting a bunch of my stuff out the last week or so."

"Hm. Any particular reason, or was it just fall cleaning?"

"I'm ready to move. If you still want me."

Bucky wasn't sure if he was squeezing Steve's hand, or if Steve was squeezing his, because it all felt the same. Home was home.

"Till the end of the line, pal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! It's been an interesting challenge writing something every day, and I hope you've enjoyed the story. 
> 
> I'm out of social battery power at the moment, but I will read all of your lovely comments when I get the chance. <3
> 
> Great big Stucky sandwich hugs to everyone. <3


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